There’s a sculpture of me, Made out of concrete and clay,
It’s not a loving tribute, It’s one filled with sorrow and pain,
Almost like a voodoo doll, but made by an artist who couldn’t sow
It was made with no smile
And no frown
A blank expression that means nothing even now
,even if it was turned upside down,
That wouldn’t be so bad,
Because if I was really made from stone I wouldn’t feel,
I wouldn’t have a heart And I’d not have a soul,
Yet, all these years that have past by, Haven’t altered the pain so real,
I wouldn’t have a heart And I’d not have a soul,
Yet, all these years that have past by, Haven’t altered the pain so real,
I sometimes wish I was woman-made, From the material you used to make your clone,
For it wouldn’t matter either way if you left me alone,
I’d have no need for company, And my love for you would no longer grow.
©Rob Spencer 2021
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