I was about
to apply the varnish,
When it
vanished.
I had been
waiting months,
For a fine
hot sunny day,
So that the
varnish would quickly dry,
Once applied.
So I set my
sculpture up, ready.
And prised the
lid off the varnish tin,
With a
screwdriver.
Stirred the
thick tawny liquid,
Therein,
Which gave
off a sweet heady smell.
I dipped my
brush,
And let
surplus drops drip off,
Then turned,
Brush raised
ready to start,
To apply a
first coat.
But had
gone!
Where was
the wood I’d carved for weeks?
It was
suddenly and totally absent.
And though I
had not heard it fall,
I searched
the floor,
And poked in
nooks and crannies
Where it
might somehow have rolled,
In vain.
Nothing.
And I was
not dreaming,
So how could
this be?
Were transcendent
powers punishing me?
For my vain
attempt to fashion
A graven
image
Of an idea
and an emotion?
What a
stupid notion,
For I to
try.
But at least
I have now learned
A universal
law
“THAT WHICH
HAS VANISHED,
MAY NOT BE
VARNISHED.”
