Prendinha para esta domingo :)

The Dummy
by Michael Mack

In that forgotten part of town

Where wasted hopes and dreams abound,

A wrinkled man with life near end,

In hopes to have at least one friend,

Fashioned bits of wood and things

And made a dummy run by strings.

He sat alone for hours on end,

Conversing with his only friend

And found delight within the fact

That he controlled it's every act.

He told it how he never had

A chance, since all his luck was bad

Although he'd tried so to succeed -

The dummy nodded and agreed.

And how his journeys in romance

Had never given him a chance,

And wasn't it a crying shame

That he was always held to blame

When everyone knew, oh so well,

That life is but a living Hell,

Controlled by lust and power and greed?

The dummy nodded and agreed.

With patience that would rival saints,

That dummy sat through all complaints

And, with each little expert tug,

He'd droop his head or bow or shrug

And give some comfort to the man

Who held his lifelines in his hand

And helped to fill a lonely need

When he just nodded and agreed.

Senility increased with time

As did the old man's phantomime,

And feverish fingers pulled with glee

The dummy's dance of misery.

They never left each other's side

Until the day both stopped and died.

We found them lying, hand in hand,

The dummy - and his wooden friend.