Scissors

Scissors...snipping ever,
So curious to find.
With upper jaw, and lower jaw,
They cut words from the mind.

The sharper...the mind,
The easier to cut.
Even pinking-shears appear,
Zig-zagging in their strut.

Scissors there are that cut,
And chew to get it off.
Rising up and down,
Like lips that scoff.

Words are cut to pieces,
With no particular meaning.
And the flow of beautiful sounds,
Are never left...just leaning.

For scissoring is an art,
Made by mind and hand.
Both reaches to the voice,
Where thoughts are cut and fanned.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

Joe at Thanksgiving Point Museum of Natural Curiosity