I want to be a real boy, I don’t want to be a stump

My joints articulating better than my knotty lump

My heart a pumping sap filled core,

with arms outstretched to shelter more

I wait for the carver to create me anew

From my snazzy top hat to my hard wooden shoes.

Direct me, show me, guide life to this oak

Allow me a life, my leaves are all spoke.