The gnome that knew something

His name was Desmond,

Desmond the archaeologist

and the only people that saw him

was the house's tourists

They marvelled at the sight,

of the endangered gnome

The big double chin smile shot up

but inside he felt all alone

For it's true the garden's best companion

is the garden gnome display

but the garden gnome now knew

that all he was, was clay

You see he had a dream

a dream thought when first weaved

that his life would be with others

daily trivia on the patio street

 Weaved with yellow boots, big drooping red hat

and a shovel in his hand

he looked more like a farmer

then an expert in the field of ground

As time went by in the clay heads mind

Desmond soon became to fathom

of all the things now possible to him

and this he began to imagine

Suicide in the ponds dark

and murky waters

where the algae

tangles its tortures

perhaps the ironic

buried alive

rotten clay carcass

in 3005.

No. Thought desmond the gnome

I will stay in the spot

until my owners arrive

with a cardboard box

I've seen it done to the gerbil;

box in hand, gerbil in other

funeral of the animal

did not cause much bother

But later in the very same day

as the owner came around

he tripped over the ponds edge

and the foot came to the ground

Knocking Desmond to his knees

by a stone much stronger than his

concrete pathway gave no way

smashing yellow boots to bits

The owner gave a jump in fright

and then sorrowful hand picked him up

looking at the vacant feet

whether it was accident or not

There was no more pain

that Desmond ever felt

than losing his yellow boots

rather than himself

For now he cannot walk

to his deathly hollow grave

Desmond the archaeologist knew

that the shovel can never save.