Poetry
Below
Gift Box
I am but a box for a heavy heart
A little gift for whoever finds it
I doubt it will be me, but perhaps
I will live to see it found
I stuffed it too full, this box
Shoved my treasure down and down
Lost it in the mass of glitter
And pastel tissue paper
People see the pretty wrapping
That hides so well the gaping hole
And tell me how my heart, abused
Is perfect, hale and healthy
I am but a box for a heavy heart
Half a treasure, not worth finding
And for all I change this box to shape it
My heart will not oblige.
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Joy
​
Joy, it sat upon a tree
Like a worm upon a leaf
But as the world, it turned to night
The tree began to sleep
The bows began to bend beneath
Their hardy, heavy load,
So joy it trickled down again
And set off down the road
The Beast
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The man, he wore a jaunty smile
And tipped his hat just right
And with naught but an errant word
We slipped into the night
So when he helped himself to me
Like dishes at a feast
I was but the dame who fell
For a simple, hapless beast.