I came across its shrunken frame,
lashed to a random rail.
The secluded death, diminished frame,
told a sorry tale.
How once, a joy, a treasured pride,
it bore a life that mattered;
How love once dignified its role,
that now was broke and battered.
Where love had once upon a time
a vibrant life endorsed.
What pride and joy and patience once
was lavished on this corpse.
What story lay behind the scene,
what trauma caused this end?
How it had come to this sad state
I could not comprehend.
The violence of traumatic death,
the twisted sculpture left,
tells such a haunted tortured tale,
leaving a soul bereft.
Roland's Ragbag 