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Poem

WOE IS SHE
“Was ever woman in this humour wooed?
Was ever woman in this humour won?”
Is the theatre of the absurd the new market place for suitors?
Her the jester unbeknownst to her,
Juggling objects too far from her reach as if by catching she herself will 
crumble.
Foolish her showing up on set with an open mind and an unmarked heart,
Hilarious wise cracker with her flimsy moves around the nutcracker;
Wobble on; duck duck she is still the goose.

“Was ever woman in this humour wooed?
Was ever woman in this humour won?”
Or the conduct presented she misread,
Too many teeth covering his smile should have been a sign of something 
more hidden
Perfected moves as the lights shine on his perfect pose
Her imperfect self feeling gratitude for being licked by the light shining on 
him,
Wobble on, duck duck she is still the goose.

Wobble on, duck duck she is still the goose
All birds in the same pond but the colours tell
Unique is no camouflage it remains a mark distinct
The final hurrah is here while the ducks curtsy
She in her dark humour wooed,
Remains backstage_

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