Broken Plate.
You’re sitting upon a shelf, collecting
dust.
Lonely and forgotten,
You’re a Christmas plate,
They normally give Santa cookies from upon
you.
You, on your shelf, start to ponder.
You rock back, and forth,
Hoping to open the cabinet a slight bit.
Maybe they’ll see the cabinet open
slightly,
And open it, remembering that I am here.
But sadly, in your excitement,
Your rock too much…
And now you are bits and pieces upon the
floor.
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