Dusty and unused
Stored away in the shed
No dirt to rescue
No dirt to tread
The tiller lays sleepily awake
Peaking an eye when the doors are ajar
Never given gasoline for its thirst to slake
Outside never seemed so far.
Gone are the days with ground
Beneath its spiked toes
Earthen clad feet that spun round
It's engine can only sing woes
It stares longingly to the dirt
The grass openly mocks
The landscape can only flirt
As weeds to it flock
The dust, the dirt, the grime
Never clean, never repaired
To such a piece -- a crime
None to which can compare
Dusty and unused
Stored away in the shed
The tiller recused,
It's better off dead.
© 2007 Alec Nikolas Reiter
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