A rough and rusty bucket such as I
Squeaks, rattles and stained with time
Aged, faded and holding nothing, wry
Of all the hopes and dreams sublime.
Remaining as I sat forever
Watching the sun and moon streak by
Filling and emptying with the weather
The truth in these words does not lie.
But still, I am ready to be dipped
In hope that the well springs eternal
To bring to the parched lips to be sipped
My purpose…conveying thoughts external.
So lift my pages as though a ladle,
I will give you dreams as long as I am able.