It was a morning in October,
When the wind was rushing over
Pines and fields of four-leafed-clover.
Clouds were hanging over Dover.
A stranger wandered into town,
Dressed up in black, with hair of brown.
His grave-eyes wild. He wore a frown.
A stick of wood, he whittled down,
Into a marionette with laces.
He carved three entrancing faces.
One whose tears could fill six vases.
The second’s smile, its face embraces.
The third had blanketed eyes, to snare
Mortals who really didn’t care,
And those who sadly couldn’t bear
Life’s sinuous dancing, pounding ware.
To each creature he met along the road,
And through the town, where e’er he strode,
He’d listen as their emotions flowed,
Reading out their life’s true code.
If deep down, Earth’s true treasures lie,
And with the wind, they longed to fly,
A puppet’s smile would meet their eye.
“Your life’s worth more than gold,” he’d cry.
If cliffs and canyons gorged on them,
But yet, they clung to a thorny stem,
And felt their life still held a gem,
With the sad face, he would not condemn.
But if he found within their heart,
That with this life, they longed to part,
The doll’s blank face–his abstract art–
Would, with its desert eyes, impart
The truth about the world beyond.
The puppet waved its magic wand
To help escape life’s clutching bond,
And, with the man, their souls abscond.
Behind him, the lost souls trailed away.
They vanished that October day.
Left us behind, to romp and pray.
He will return when life looks grey.
© All Rights Reserved Caroline Adele O’Brien