Clay Figurines Poem by Andrew Sean H

She hates the bible, and soon turns red, angry giving an interesting opinion
Every-time stopping part way, her esteem acquiring a mousy-er disposition

Though now there is a plate hanging, a 'last supper' mural with a chip along the edge
Above a westerly facing door, where the sunsets daily behind the moon-flower hedge

Since added two maybe three, small clay angel figurines, fixed in place felt for each the most fitting
In direction chosen with such care and thought, that they each are now as thoughtfully sitting

Myself convinced further as witness, I try to remain un-astounded
not with the way they don't appear when it all seems a-drift
or personally feeling less grounded
But how when it's everything thus far known to be real disappears
and suddenly they are all that's surrounding