Pawn, Fawn, the List Goes On

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A toy.
A pawn.
A child.
A fawn.
No experience in life; no brain, all brawn.
Your life goes on as you live like a pawn.
Step aside and pick up your broken crayon,
and pay no mind to what you have drawn,
for it does not matter, it only gives yawn
to those who may cast an eye upon
the fruitless expression of single shade celadon.
A green that bores pain into eyes soon gone,
to live on a life as their new day will dawn
with fountains of beauty bearing many a swan
in luscious green fields in areas yon.
Far from the burden and undesired spawn
with its unspoken knowledge; it continues on.






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