In a room so bare, I fix my gaze, A wall awaiting a frame’s embrace, Yet I remain seated, lost in thought, Contemplating where this art be brought.
Above my bed or by my chair, To showcase its beauty with tender care, I yearn to find the perfect spot, Where its radiance won’t be forgotten.
Upon floating clouds, my vision aligns, Imagining the frame where it truly shines, But as morning graces the world anew, The frame still lies, unnoticed and askew.
Today, oh today, night’s curtain descends, I stumble upon a sight that rends, My precious frame, shattered and torn, In fragments scattered, dreams forlorn.
Now I must find the time to mend, The splinters scattered, chaos to tend, For on my floor they lay, a scattered array, Awaiting my touch to bring order and sway.
With gentle hands and patient care, I gather the shards, aware of repair, For this frame that holds my treasured art, Shall rise again, healed from its part.
And when it finds its place anew, I’ll gaze upon it, as dreams come true, In every crack, a story reborn, A testament to resilience, worn and torn.
So let the night yield to morning’s light, As I mend the fragments, piece by piece, slight, For my frame shall rise, stronger than before, A testament of strength, forevermore.
