She sat on the shelf

Unchanging,

By herself,

Always there,

Her golden eyes,

Vague and unseeing;

Blind.

 

She's sat alone

For longer

Than I've known,

But she remains the same,

Wholesome,

Golden,

Beautiful,

Blind.

 

But last week

She was touched

Gently laid out

On a slice of toast,

And forgotten,

Left in the sun,

Still the same,

But her eyes,

Finally seeing.

 

The toast beneath her

writhed as it sat

becoming withered and green.

The toast grew fuzz

and got eaten up

by strange tiny creatures

but she remained

unchanged

yet less desirable

for having been touched

by one who changed

while she was attached

at the wrong time.