My Life

I was told that Life could be just what I made it
It could be fashioned and worn like a gown,
I, the designer, mine the decision
Whether to wear it with a bonnet or a crown.

And I selected the prettiest pattern
So that my life is made of the rosiest hue,
Something unique, and a bit out of fashion
One that perhaps would be chosen by few.

But other folks came and leaned over my shoulder
Someone questioned the ultimate cost,
Somebody tangled the thread I was using
And one day I found that my scissors were lost.

And somebody claimed the material faded
A few suggested it was not worth a corn,
Someone's fingers, too pointed and spiteful
Snatched at the cloth, and it was torn.

Oh! somebody tried to do all the sewing
Stretching all muscles and tiring each bone,
Here is my life, the product of many, But
Where is that gown I could fashion all alone?