We are the frail corners of a tablecloth
Elegant and beautiful after the seamstress is finished
Embroidered with gold
The finest silk sown into our bodies
We are beautiful, and we touch everyone who sits at the table
But after so long,
We tear and tatter
We crease and wither
The gold threads wear away
The silk looses its soft
And we remember we are only the frail corners of a tablecloth