Creatures Lined

What fun! the creatures made behind
The sculpting of our hands:
The silhouette carnivore, crouched,
Preying on the man,

Or if we are less sinister,
—those seldom times we are—
A black bird, flapping through the light,
Beauty without a heart.

How quick their fleeing from the world!
—Takes but a slip of mind—
And we don’t weep, although we should:
We too are creatures lined.

For all are shadow puppets behind
The hasty Master’s hand,
And all for his amusement—yes—
That hopeful Master Plan....