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

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