The next to have it was unkind
And stored the mischief of their mind
In the vessel with releases
Drugs, and liquor, later feces
They didn't care what went inside
The vessel too now didn't mind
It had a home and that sufficed
It felt needed, the thought enticed
But soon again was cast aside
Empty, cracked and with no pride

Glad when once again was found
Just to have someone around
The latest owner loathed the pot
Cracked it more, and let it rot
Thought it stupid, ugly, old
But still they filled it with their gold
And underneath the pressing weight
The vessel cracked and called it fate

© J. Simon