poem, rhyme

To who an apprentice to be? 

Before I had my rags removed,
I molded a man after my own

Image, as I moved 

Through the tiny stage of town.

His name was Buckley the Baker.

The sweets he made melted hearts of stone;

They turned wars in the streets into wars for the Maker,

And churned minds away from the phone.

He had a mushy beard, that

made him resemble Santa Clause. 

But I was mad I at him about what I heard

during one dark pause.

Head down, 

looking like an upside down clown

After the baker asked with his nose turned up, head shaking

“Who is that boy interested in baking?”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/apprentice/

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