THE OLD WHEELBARROW

a poem by William Willis, Scotland



Disguarded from the workplace, rusted red distorted frame.
Old wheelbarrow, I ponder from what walk of life you came.
Mangled handles reaching out like a rusty shipyard crane.
Were you pushed around the factory,pushing loads or lifting grain.

Old wheelbarrow, I ponder from what walk of life you came.
Were you wheeled around all day in the snow and wind and rain.
Your tyre tread is bare now and has seen far better days.
You've been a mate to many with the heavy loads you've raised.

Your bolts and axles aches and pains are a burden of your past.
Manufactured in the 60s and for sure were built to last.
After all your toil and efforts,the paint has now gone from your frame.
Old wheelbarrow, I ponder from what walk of life you came.

Old wheelbarrow,I ponder from what walk of life you came.
Did you carry sand or rubble and was every day the same ?
Your buckets lying twisted like a face that's had a battering.
As the rain hits off your rusty hinge, I hear a pitter-pattering.

You look like you've been there a while,as the weeds make you their home.
With your pal lying there beside you , it's old flattened traffic cone.
Old wheelbarrow, I ponder from what walk of life you came.
Your future's not too bright but we all can say the same.

Because our countrys in a rut right now and it's all hands to the pumps.
The pension age has risen and we're all down in the dumps.
Old wheelbarrow I ponder, will i fix up your old frame?
And work you till you drop (again!) It's our Governments main aim.

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