I'm waiting...


for crumbs to drop

from the master's table.


I'm submissive and boring

and there you are... snoring...




But when they drop

those crumbs are a banquet

to me.


And they keep me nourished

and fed, and I flourish

in your renewed interest

for now...


at least,

till the supply


runs out.


How long will I linger?


Round your little finger

I'm wound.




From you I must flee

If just a degree

of pure dignity


I can keep.


So steep....


the slope that I slide down

and climb

each time.


No more.

The End

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