The Frame Poem by Ruth Walters

The frame held the ego splendidly,
with a little gold chintz around the edges.
It showed it off with a little swagger and flair!
Truly, I could not fault the fine brush work,
a splash of colour, light here, shade there.
The ego was quite unashamed and fabulous.
It spoke, in its own way, about the artist's life,
his death and all his earthly quests.
Of course the frame felt taken down
in all this adoration.
Like a bridesmaid at a wedding;
second best.