There once was a nut who felt out of place,
Who always went out, but never felt safe,
Who created a life just to save face,
But he was a nut in a bucket of bolts.
They knew he was different, but they didn’t care,
They pretended to like him, from shoes to his hair,
They accepted, rejected, and breathed his own air,
But he was a nut in a bucket of screws.
They were cold and metallic, as nails often are,
He often saw them, but only at far,
For they stacked up against him, time eased by like tar,
But he was a nut in a bucket of nails.
Back to the workbench, he said without joy,
But was picked up by the Master, and further employed,
Fastened with passion to a wooden toy,
And he was a nut that finally fit.