Man Sitting at Table with Figurines

Of Dust And Glass
By Linda A. Copp

Glasslike figures rest upon
the table long and flat.
Its 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 in darkness,
 into the nighttime came,

The cooling, sightless countenance
 of dark and nightfall's 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 swirl,
Draping, destroying, and threatening
 the existence of this world;

World Dying

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 man's misguided pass!

By Linda A. Copp
©April 15, 1970

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