My plasticine bones mould to your wishes
and I'm flexible to take any form,
but rough handling hurts unlike soft kisses
so keep me smoothed over, happy and warm.
Every shape I've made has been pulled apart
and it's hard to revoke the changes made
and although I could be made into art
you'd wish that my simplicity had stayed.
More hands snatch at me; they pull and they pry
til I fear that I may become overstretched
when all I long for is to peacefully lie
and not be expected to take forms farfetched.
If I'm streched too far I will be worn out
so I'll take my form and stay tall and stout.
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