THE SPADE
The Spade
Forged by fire, and hammer,
A beaten form of tool.
Then man hued out a handle,
of hickory twas so smooth.
My duty was to work with man,
for daily tasks, we toiled.
We loaded coal into mine cars,
and dug in rocks, an soil.
His hands were warm an gentle.
and he stored me in a shed.
My owner used me many years.
no job twas there to dread.
One day, another picked me up,
we went to dig a grave.
He dug an chopped into the clay,
until it twas enclaved.
Time has now passed, since that day,
my shining steel has gone.
Honeysuckle vines now cling to me.
as I lean against his stone.
Ted D. Reese
“Life is in the caring”
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