“Les Cruches Cassées”

Even old sofas can be reupholstered,
Covered with chintz that blinks with dragon’s eyes;
Worm-eaten chairs that tell too many lies
May yet be painted, puttied, somehow bolstered;
A rickety piano has a tuner
To plink it back to musical surprise;
And frugal housewives, strictly pennywise,
Cement burst jugs and make them healthy sooner.

But where’s the tinker-devil who will clout
Our cracked-up selves till they hold love once more?
Oh you can smooth your curlylocks, no doubt!
Look what a mess we’ve made on Life’s clean floor!
You can’t patch leaky clay. There are no cures.
And it was your fault, yours! “No, yours!” Yours! “Yours!”