BROKEN MOULD

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BROKE THE MOULD

You mould and meld me

with the lightest of touch

A whispered word, “love,

didn’t you mean to …”

Guided by your gilded hand

I glide through the quicksand

Of parental propriety,

and filial fidelity….

My faux has passed

My gaffs garroted

Curtailed by a look.

You are my Geppetto

And I can tell no lies

Lest taken by surprise

I bray like a donkey!

copyright Dale Beck 2018

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