A Cracked Bowl
He loved my beauty, not my wandering mind.
In fact ,he preferred me to be near mute
I knitted Mobius strips whilst intertwined.
And listened to his voice as to a flute.
I soon grew tired of hearing his crazed views
I found a man who liked to hear me speak.
Until I mentioned I owned ten green shoes.
Bottles yes,but shoes made me a freak
Then I found a man who never spoke.
He listened with a kind,inviting smile.
I would have liked to test him with a joke.
But feared I might then harm his utter guile
.
Formidable the quest to match one’s soul.
Instead I’ll keep it here in a cracked bowl
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