It came wrapped in
paper and string,
Six sided dull and
brown,
No sender’s name nor
address,
No tell tale weight
nor rattling sound.
Sealing wax with no
seal -
Your average tied
brown box.
No shuffling of
straw, no pings of glass,
No warning ticks or
tocks.
Just a box.
What angel feathers
or sunshine gold,
What treasures lie
inside?
Forgotten poems and
ancient tales,
The last of the
kwagga’s hide,
Or devil’s claws and
bottled beasts,
Witches curséd locks;
Poisoned wine or a
ticking mine,
An infectious
plaguing pox,
In the box?
Should I be wise and
let alone
Or fall to Pandora’s
fate?
The seal looks ripe
and the string slender -
The contents shall
not wait.
But its a thing and I
am alive,
I must look after
myself,
So decision rests for
the future
And the box lies on
the shelf.
Copyright © Jason
Horsler
07/93
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