Putty

Putty, humble paste of dough,
Moulded soft by steady hand,
It fills the cracks where time has flown,
A quiet cure for walls that stand.

In glazier’s shop it sits await,
A supple shield for glass and pane,
Press‑fit, it bonds the fragile plate,
Keeping drafts and rain at bay.

Children knead it, bright and keen,
Shaping dragons, stars, and snow,
Their imaginations, keen and clean,
Find form in putty’s gentle flow.

Whether sealing window frames or play,
This modest mix, both tough and bland,
Holds together night and day,
A quiet strength within the hand.