lostart

                     The Lost Art
          (Dedicated to my daughter Chicki)

Thinking up questions is what I do best,
What about me, my toys and all of the rest?
I toil and I struggle for your motherly love,
I try to be worthy, push comes to shove.
I offer you my work, please be my guest.
Will my latest creation meet your mean test?

I'm an artist of beauty; my canvas is me,
My soul and my mind have both been set free.
This work is much better than yesterday's picture,
Such extraordinary colors and quality of mixture.
I'm tickled to think of how happy you'll be.
I must giggle and wiggle and slap at my knee.

You enter and find me hard at my chore,
But you crinkle your nose and want even more.
You leave me uncertain, how can I stay
When you treat me like a child day after day?
Did Daddy and you make me simply to ignore?
Will this indiffernce send me straight out the door?

I implore you, I beg you to look at your prize,
But you snigger and snicker and avert your cruel eyes.
Why don't you speak frankly and tell me I'm bad.
I'm your daughter and love you, but you make me so mad.
Are you so grown up, perfect, and truly so wise?
Is my gift way too little; is it a matter of size?

Then, without warning, you reach right on by.
You completely ignore my startled half-cry.
The handle's depressed, the water gushes down,
And my poor little turd goes round and round.
As you wipe me so gently I shudder my sorrow,
"Oh, well...I can make another one tomorrow."

Posted 12/24/02