Dolls can't dance.

Dolls of porcelain,
Dolls of glass,
Dolls of plastic made to surpass,
Still creak and falter,
Stagger and totter,
Stiffen and fail to alter,
That part to produce a personable dance.

They can glide and twirl and the like,
Bend and swivel all the same,
But those things in the image of us,
Fail to foster what we still only claim.

Flowers aren't only plants.

Flowers of porcelain,
Flowers of glass,
Flowers of paper to bloom in advance,
Still larger and smaller,
Shorter and taller,
Offer and be without water,
Copies of nature's capturing plants.

They can change in a day,
Bloom forever,
Yet still those things as nature's canvas,
Cannot compare to mechanical endeavor.

To be of grace, you must entrance,

People of porcelain,
People of glass,
People of plaster replacing chance,
Still pitter and patter,
Stand and clamber,
Be gardener or dancer,
We still admire those who skillfully entrance.

But dolls and fake plants who are as people,
Are without that which makes them graceful,
And are likewise caught captive,
Away from the "emotionfull".

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