A moment of innocent, childish rapture,
And no longer am I a mundane printed publication.
As I morph from a newspaper into a paper boat!
He gently kneels against the pebbled banks,
As he examines the creation in his hands!
Naive folds of pretentious finesse,
No purpose, port of call or period;
Until he personifies me with his vagabond self,
Exuding unfeigned, childlike happiness,
As he sets me afloat down the streams!
Set off from the shallow banks,
The currents inveigle me, to go with the flow!
Naive as I am, I cave, to watch the scenes unfold.
As I pass by bends and turns,
Bearing the imposed personality of the vagabond,
In pursuit of the purpose, port of call or period!
With passing time, and conquered distances,
The waters dampen me.
Even a frail undercurrent, unfurls me,
One fold at a time.
The journey has worn me down so much,
I wash up against the pebbled banks,
And I’m just a newspaper again,
But not even as worthy, being my soggy self now!
So much is the power of belief,
That for a while there I surmised,
That I could be the vagabond
He wanted me to be!