Funeral Of An Inanimate Object

A baker chews his pencil, completes a crossword A small girl writes in her secret diary A mathematics student scribbles numbers In a room a carpet fitter measures a floor In a school a child practises handwriting In a bank, a teller ticks off jobs to perform At a bingo hall a pensioner scores on squares At a bookie's shop a punter chooses runners At the crime scene a policeman jots down facts The doctor doodles on her memo pad The shopper ticks off items on his list The decorator measures strips of paper In the graveside of my mind I lower my pencils, brushes, pens Into the vault of failure The pencil was meant to unlock life's sweet ambition My brushes were meant to build a bridge to dream Like Durer, Escher, Desgas, Leonardo Like Van Gogh, Gaugin, Vermeer, Michaelangelo The fault llies not with the objects The fault lies my useless, fruitless hand I was the only mourner It was a private ceremony