An Old Shovel

Upon this rusted hook, I've hung for years; I can't recall when I last touched the ground. The rust on me is creeping- oh, my fears- I'll just be cast away and never found! You see, right next to me- a newer one so shinny-bright, with an unblemished blade, is always used- their fave has now become! They leave me here alone- feeling betrayed. But then, one summer day, their Grandpa came! He graciously pulled me from that old hook- then patted me with love- to then proclaim, “I need to borrow you, my friend”- and took me to the garden, which was overgrown, to manage it as we did long ago; since then- neglected, wild, and left alone. Together, we set memories aglow. An old, worn shovel, with no purpose, hung; A senior Grandpa, with old, rigid hands; A vegetated garden- gone unsung! Each, with the other- old age understands.