For When The Bough Breaks
Little cracks, insignificant little lines,
crept silently across its smooth skin,
cussing and complaining, over and over,
about the load they carried,
each one, immersed in his own burden.
For each was wiser than his equal,
and superior to his mate.
Little cracks as they were,
they fell back on reason,
diffidence spreading like wildfire,
not one had the strength to stand his own,
not one had the courage to fight alone.
They grew their wares, with every bargain,
befitting an alcoholic and his curse,
and grew, and grew,
on and on
came crashing down together.