
Pierre

A Swede by stately heritage
Tho Frenchman by the makers’ hands
Was more than sold for less a grand
He’s like an orphaned dog, a sage
She cleans Pierre with careful care;
He was waxed with pine tree sap
And where once he had a tick to tap
No longer rattles like a snare
His accoutrements are cold and chrome
His contortion bears a stolid air
He breathes out the city’s sullied air
And tucks away beside our home
He roams wherever we roam
And when he tarries at a halt
She isn’t addled by his faults
But learns the way he’s knit and sewn
A progressive work is his stave
We will learn him till we know him
And even if his chance is slim
Everyone wants to be saved
"Pierre" by Nina Ricci ©2014 All Rights Reserved