The dismal cloth grabbed hold of my sight,
and I knew it must have a home.
I carried it to my humble abode and
planted it upon the oak wood.
It lay still as I ripped
into it and poked and prodded.
I has a
vision.
I would create something great
of this pathetic waste of space.
Hours of work a preparation.
Cutting, pasting, sewing.
Finally, my creation was complete.
The cloth now
a petite dress.
But when I held it up
the inspect the product, it
whithered
and fell apart
upon the floor.
I surveyed the pathetic heap
and it begged me to comprehend,
all it can be is itself.
It is a cloth,
nothing more.
 
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