Wooden Blocks

Wooden carved, a portrait,
hewed out of some new pine
That found its maiden mother
hidden just like mine.

Wooden carved, or crayoned
the time has come
and gone
You ask not of forgotten things
the hour they
went wrong.

And if you question fiercely
The portrait, sculpture thine
You'll feel but, all too keenly
The knife that made that line.

By Lady LaMythica, Linda A. Copp © All rights reserved World Wide
including but not limited to 1970-2014