Please tell me the lines carved on my face
say what was, not what will be.
But let it be experience and not expression
cutting the final line,
a thin upturned mouth.
Whittle me legs so I may totter home.
Break the knobby knees early and often,
so I don't have to, preventing later creaks.
Oil thick these joints for all terrains;
cover with pitch and
forbid water entry.
Dry my green wood by the fire,
though keep me from catching -
perhaps secure a seat upon a linen needle cushion.
If you hang me over flame,
tie a string around my chest and pull.
I won't mind.
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