We were two pieces of sandalwood,
Two beams that would become
(With holes, and glue, and dowel rods)
Gently hammered into one.
We were two pieces rough for shape;
A square would make us wright,
And after we were sanded smooth,
We’d be oiled clear and bright.
We were two pieces meant to be
The blueprints of the heart:
A bed, a cradle, and a box,
Till death has done us part.
But when the clamps were wound in place,
And the boards did snuggly press,
We found the fatal flaw too late,
And broke beneath our stress.