THE VARNISHED UNTRUTH

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.”