The Frame
The frame held the ego splendidly,
with a little gold chintz around the edges.
It highlighted its excellence with flair.
Truly, I couldn't fault the fine brush work.
A splash of light here, shade there.
The ego was quite unabashed and fabulous,
it spoke, in its way, about the artist's life,
his death and all his earthly quests.
Of course the frame had a long face
and felt quite let down with all this adoration.
Like a bridesmaid at a wedding; second best.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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