Painted to perfection,
The artist’s pride, the craftman’s delight
Petite porcelain dolls
With hearts of glass and all
Beautiful to see, smooth to touch
Yet fragile and withstanding no fall.
Tossed, dropped and shattered
In glimmering pieces we end
Only to be transformed
Our stories told in murals of mozaics.
Yet another artist’s hands must pick us up and put us together again,
A brand new scenary
No longer dolls, the object of the story
But the setting, the place of happening.
One life to another we are thrown,
Broken and mended and broken and mended again.
R. A. Douglas
June 11, 2016.