I look you up and look you over,
better days have left you far behind,
you're older, but to me you're still appealing,
yet you draw comments that are less than kind.
You're neglected, not consulted,
when an answer is required,
hidden now behind the others,
avoided, disregarded, mired.
I massage your spine with oil and friction,
restoring your luster to cherish and keep,
remembering when you were readily handled,
sought after, popular, top of the heap.
I'm so busy these days with my key restorations,
I scarcely have time, and I don't have a say,
so you'll have to wait for my deft ministrations,
a labor of love, postponed for a quieter day.