An Old Rusty Shovel…a poem

Old rusty shovel


There is an old rusty shovel standing out by the shed,

Casually, leaning there against the wall.

I’ve seen it through the years and have used it time and again,

To dig the holes for planting vegetables.

It isn’t quite as sturdy as I remembered it to be,

When I was still in my younger years.

Yeah, grandpa used to use it, and in so teaching me,

How to sow seeds in the garden and be prepared.

The stories it could tell and the memories it could share,

Of a man who every season prepped his grounds.

Even thru the hard times when perhaps, filled with despair,

Would patiently wait for better days to come around.

And though it’s rough around the edges, like its owner used to be,

It never failed to honor through the tasks.

Worn down over decades in its performance, unfailingly,

Another year, another hole, another mask.

I cannot help but smile as even now in this reflection

Of just how long that simple shovel has been around.

And as goosebumps settle down I think of grandpa with affection,

For what once was his – is now mine – to pass on down.

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