Wheel-Barrow

Little Ole Wheel-barrow,
Out in the snow.
Who ever left you,
I surely don't know.

But there you stand idly,
Without any use.
Just up-side down,
To the weather's abuse.

No children are riding,
As they hold to your rim.
The rust is upon you,
And your paint is all dim.

I will always remember,
How you sat by the path.
And held the rain-water,
Where the birds took their bath.

Little Old Wheel-barrow,
Mis-treated you've been.
But soon you'll be righted,
And wheeling again.

E.P. 1908 - 1989