The Artist's Wooden Mannequin

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On the artist's desk he sits in silence
Faceless, he's waiting as he does each day.
Wooden limbs in a pose of defiance
But only because she posed him that way.
His fingerless hands in a fist raised high
Indecipherable in its meaning;
He has no emotion, isn't alive -
Without these his motions are unfeeling.
The artist brings life to his lifelessness,
Expression to his every lack of one.
His role is to be a framework for this,
The painting he is a central part of.
Under-appreciated though he's been,
He is the artist's wooden mannequin.

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