Ode to a trailer hoist.
Oh thou who keepest my marbles from running to the front
Who maketh me to lie down on level pastures
Thou who letteth me lash up and taketh off
I'm sorry
Thy cylindrical post, thy whining motor
Thou who lifteth my spirits and ales
I have striken thee with my enthusiasm
I'm sorry
The doughty campers seemed very friendly this morn
As they all waved and blew on their horns
When I looked back
Alas and Alack Brutus and I had bent thee.
I'm sorry.
I know thou wast not meant to plough the turf
I know thou shouldst not look like a scimitar in a pirate's belt
Yet had I to Sawsall ye in half
I'm sorry
Well done thou good and faithful
Time had weathered thee and thy seals were loose
Perhaps, like autumn, thy time had come
I'm sorry, already.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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