Visiting With Friends Poem by Patti Masterman

Visiting with friends, I spied the paintings
On the walls; every room I chanced upon
Even in the bathroom, was hung a still-life:
Flowers from a clay-fired vase, that hung.

I told the hostess that there was a beauty
I'd found within the paintings on the wall;
I said that the bathroom artist was my favorite
She told me then she had done them all.

Since my childhood, I've harbored many secrets
A lack of reason, of a certain kind:
But since that day, I'm careful with my comments,
So my brainless state, they will not mind.