Worn glass vase on window sill Thin yet steady Tall and still Empty, no substance within its seams I wonder dear vase, does the emptiness make you scream? Does it bother you, vase, that you have nothing inside? No emotion, no flowers, with nothing to be eyed? I understand dear vase, you have been through much Through firey kilns and rugged hands touch Perhaps if I had been through that, it would be my preference too It is easier, vase, to remain empty and untrue