Toymaker poem

There is in my old picture book
A page at which I never look.
The toys within all seem to cry
And when I look then so will I.
The playing cards have such sad faces
The Jack, Queen, King and all the Aces.
A dolly and a teddy bear
Sigh and wail in full despair.
Girls and boys all turned to toys
So much joy each life destroys.
They came here and they tried their best
Do have a go, my latest guest.
I put them there, you know, my friend
Not all my games have happy ends.
What’s that? You think I’d let them out?
Their snakes were laddered, without a doubt,
So many, many years ago.
Perhaps I might – you never know.
Take care you don’t end up the same.
Now – care to try my Trilogic Game . . . ?

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Now We Are Six Hundred, poem 18, "The Toymaker"