The puppeteer likes control
Over her dolls
Pulling their strings
Demanding control
She likes creating stories
With tragic ends
Acting out long tales
Of lovers and friends
Some say she’s lonely
Others estranged
For she talks only to her dolls
For days and days
She smiles quietly
Behind the stage
At wondrous faces
Watching in amaze
Perhaps it’s the joy
Her puppet shows bring
Or perhaps it’s her ability
To control everything
Or maybe the puppeteer
Is a doll herself                                                                                                                      A porcelain model
And nothing else