Frail Fence

Frail fence wakes up to rain and sand,
Morning Breeze hits, it fortifies the land.
Lead paint slowly frets off its hand,
Salty brine tarnishes its ends unmanned.

Couple hours pass, morning does too,
a thunderstorm hits, dulling the sky blue.
then clouds surface, with lightning ensue,
Bam! On the frail fence, the brightest zap spew.
Bad Aim, I guess.

Now the fancy fence, ooh, stood tall,
never fought from rain and massive backwash.
But was placed to subtly enthral,
So flat and smooth, one could play squash.
with good aim.

you see
fence fancy never had to toil,
It was on the soil but never with the soil,
The biggest threat it faced was despoil,
While frail fence would dream of theft to uncoil.
Its wounds.

But lightning brightened frail’s demise,
opened its wood eyes to make him realise,
that the crabs chipping away his thighs,
reveal the beautiful rims that underlie.

That the salt mists which agonised its feet,
Watered plants whose roots tangle and treat,
it with strength from deep underneath,
Share their water on days with excess heat.

It made it realise that it's rusty,
left its ends blunt making it kid-friendly.
Kids now put stickers on frail lively,
replacing paints with a warm-sweet memory.

Fancy fence died the same it began,
While frail fence’s work can not be undone.
Because while one resisted maturing,
the other resisted succumbing,
to suffering.

What I’m trying to say is that

Frail fence’s combat, made it éclat,
never did he fall flat, fighting from a bobcat or a wombat.
During the day he became a cryostat, at night a thermostat,
changing temperatures in a way that,
Made fancy feel it’s a spoiled brat.
It became an acrobat, morphing itself away from bureaucrats,
with all their coup d’etats, and forming his own little microhabitats,
in order to adapt, to any trap that spawn,

Basically, it challenged the challenges drawn,
shouted like a grumpy tennis player to god “come on”,
Now Frail has become the fence god of brawn,
Growth without resistance is an oxymoron.