Of Dust and Glass

Glasslike figures rest upon 
the table long and flat.

It's dusty borders gather still, 
the figures, this and that;
As shining, sunbeams play upon
the glass, the tabletop.
Reflecting and refracting there 
until the sun has stopped.
Bereft and left into the darkness, 
into the nighttime came,
The cooling, sightless countenance 
of dark and night falls gain.

Until the sun soon rose once more, 
upon the lovely scene.
Dancing in the glassy dress of all, 
each figurine.
But, bringing with it dust which fell 
and settled in their world.
Draping, destroying and threatening
the existence of this world.

Until the mighty master of this glass 
and dusty land
Thoughtlessly, began to draw, 
the inkling of a plan.
He would sweep the table clean, 
removing all the dust.

Alas! My friends but, he forgot, 
how fragile, glass will bust!

And in his efforts to wash away
the uncomely, bits of air,
He wiped from off his table top
the glass, he wished to care.

For figurines are gentle breaths
that break when knocked or hit
And once their glass is shattered, 
why they break from piece to bit.

And lying all o'er the floor, 
the fragile pretty glass
Is but, the broken, empty thrust 
of one mans misguided pass!

April 15, 1970

 By Lady LaMythica©(Linda A. Copp)  

Copyright Linda A Copp a.k.a. Lady LaMythica 1981to 2020©

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