At your description, I’m a jester in attire,
a novelty, a charity to hire,
as the Tolerated, I take my place,
a decoration, in this privileged space.
On this island of wealth, surrounded by gold,
the neighbors whisper, words so cold.
They gawk at me while I go unseen,
as you meditate, on your lawn, so green.
Am I but a mere artifact of lament,
inhabiting this structure, transient,
a garden gnome, weathered and worn,
left to gather dust, forgotten and forlorn?
Within the confines of your device,
I fall to your whims. Shall I suffice,
as a perpetual ornament, a live diorama,
subject to your moods, ephemeral drama?
When fashion fades, and favor wanes,
shall I be discarded, like weathered remains,
no longer tolerated, a cracked garden gnome,
cast aside when you buy up my home?

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