LIFE SCULPTURE

When god poured me from his perfect mould
He forgot to tell me that I would grow old
My skin would wrinkle
My hair would turn grey
And that even my sweet tooth would decay

Dear god please take pity on me
And recast me in your foundry
A magnificent bronze as smooth as can be
No lines, no grey
Just perfect immortality
 

Michael Ashby, Sidmouth

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