Muddy Gnome

Years it sat, half-buried,

under the weeping willow's spill.

A faded blue, absurd, unhurried,

knocked over, lying still.

That plastic smile, chipped and bright,

its unnatural gloss defying dirt.

A stubborn, cheerful, awful sight.

It never seemed to hurt.

To be forgotten, mud-caked, low.

To hold its shape, its manufactured gleam.

It just kept being so,

a ridiculous, plastic dream.

Enduring, somehow, through it all.