“Les Cruches Cassées”

Even old sofas can be reupholstered, Covered with chintz that blinks with dragon’s eyes; Worm-eaten chairs that tell too many lies May yet be painted, puttied, somehow bolstered; A rickety piano has a tuner To plink it back to musical surprise; And frugal housewives, strictly pennywise, Cement burst jugs and make them healthy sooner.

But where’s the tinker-devil who will clout Our cracked-up selves till they hold love once more? Oh you can smooth your curlylocks, no doubt! Look what a mess we’ve made on Life’s clean floor! You can’t patch leaky clay. There are no cures. And it was your fault, yours! “No, yours!” Yours! “Yours!”