A fragile vessel sits alone.
A piece of China.... Totter-prone.
Its perfect freshness, undisturbed.
Its frail construction, smoothly curved.
And then, its world, serene and still,
Is jolted, till its contents spill.
And in the process of the tumble,
Its tender lines; to-pieces, crumble.
To most, would be a worthless mass,
...to gather and dispose as trash, -
And look for one to take its place,
Not quite so fragile: Stronger based.
And then the jolts that may occur,
Will only, faint, the contents stir.
The problem solved at little cost,
But at the price of beauty-lost.
But others, though they be quite few,
Would shun the thought of something new,
And bend to gently gather bits,
And pieces, that, together, fit.
With a little patience, and clear cement,
Rebuild the vessel fate has rent.
Their careful eye, and gentle hand,
Repeating what The Sculptor planned.
And, finally, to the passer-by...
...A vessel pleasing to the eye.
Its beauty, once again displayed,
To please its neighbors; It was made.
Of course, with close examination,
There's evident contamination.
And, though its parts may now be One,
'twill never do what it could have done.
But it has gained a noble duty:
To grace its world with simple beauty.
Who else could muse on such a thesis?
But one who cares for broken-pieces.