We begin by considering which space needs this small parcel This bundle of words wrapped in crude brown paper And tied with a fibrous, rough twine.
Affairs of the heart? A plea against the longing of separation? No, there we'd need our parcel wrapped in fine gilt paper And tied with ribbons and perfumed.
A lament on the decaying society? Stripped of honesty and corrupted by graft? No, there we'd need a box of galvanized steel And wrapped in a rusting wire with blood-stained barbs.
An inspiration to lift the soul? Wings to fuel the rising inner enthusiasm? No, that would need a ripstop nylon pack Fitted with straps and pockets for a journey over the horizon.
A comfort, a support, a reassurance? For an ordinary Tuesday, with some lingering Monday weight? Sure - let it serve us here. Crude, but effective, it lets us in easily. The paper and string set aside to serve us again Folded and wound into the kitchen drawer. The words inside say that we're not alone That Wednesday will be along soon And it will take us all as we are.