Poem: Honest Weight

Honest Weight

It sits in a museum now, the old scale,
room for seeds on one side,
on the other a place for weights, measures.
Tried and true. Honest weight.

I on the other hand
should not be allowed near a scale,
my units of measure uniquely mine,
a bit too harsh for honesty,

About this poem

Some days I measure myself differently than others. Some days the self-critic thrives. Other days, he takes vacation.

The picture was taken at the New York Farm Museum.


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