The Skull

THE SKULL


There it sits upon a shelf
White and bare and old.
It never says a single word
Just sits there mighty cold.
The eyes are filled with shadows.
The teeth are old and grim.
The hair is just a memory
So it never needs a trim.
I wonder who lived in there
All those years ago.
What life they saw
What lies they told
I will never know.
I wonder how it came here
Up there for all to see
Whoever put it up there
Surely did not ask me.
I wonder what its name was.
Was it Sam or Carl or Jed?
I think I'd rather have
A vase of flowers there instead.
What bothers me most of all
And no one really knows.
What happened to the rest of him
His arms - his legs - his toes?