Sonnet #96

They cut flutes from stems of papaya leaves

The children do it with a knife, they cut

the yellow stalk, slice a line and heave

their breath down through the hole, but

the song is not melodious, a thin and sharp

sound, like a deformed owl, a tiny loon

The old folk say a flimsy, worthless carp

of a man, a man without sand, just boom

They call him the papaya flute man, hollow

A bellowing strange, a fool's buffoon.

Cut the man from the stem of his fellows

Cut away the green of him, slice his grain

Blow him out, and hear a horn of toy raids

Remember these baubles are not born but made