Thoughts of 'The Poet'

Day after day I sit, poised deep in thought and contemplation while tourists stop and stare at me with eyes of admiration Sometimes they seem hypnotized, looking without blinking I wonder what they would think if they knew what I was thinking I wish Rodin hadn't sclupted me wearing this scowl of a frown I'd wink and smile back at them if I could put my right hand down I've seen children hide their eyes when they realize I am nude Rodin was the sculptor, so don't go blaming me. Don't be rude! I don't mind being in the buff. Who needs to wear proper attire? There's a lady who visits me on weekends, eyes filled with desire. I was originally called 'The Poet.' Maybe you didn't know that. But the museum guides never mention that in their chitchat "And here, ladies and gentleman, the most famous Rodin of all. Six and a half feet tall, having a place of honor in the gallery hall." And if I'd been standing, my height would've reached twelve feet My butt is really getting sore from seating on this pedestal seat The gift shop sells replicas of me. I've been reduced to pint-size and after one hundred, thirty-seven years, I've started to oxidize Great. Here comes another tribe of school kids, all chewing gum I guess they'll wad it up and giggle when they stick it on my bum. So goes the inescapable days and nights of a sculpted work of art I have the capability to feel because Rodin chiseled in me a heart Artwork Contest