Object

were spiders reach the lonesome dust,
                        here endures a jar robust.
it bares no needles, nails or rust,
       but the object all should trust.
it knows no hate, greed or lust,
                    without it, all is lost...

a white-coat appears and take the heart,
        his last remainder to be taken apart.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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