There is a collection tray,

Decorated with a golden cover

And pretty rocks the crows brought;

As it is passed around

The false silver scream at false gold,

Both bronze,

Both disassembled and reassembled beyond recognition

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741