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Miles Winslow Poem
Or translates to "I almost ran out of gas on the trolley today!"
An ode to my day!
On Trolley! New billows sweep thee out
Upward. What wilt thou? Hold that hill, be stout
Gas'st not thy mast
Now rent by stiff South Hill's blast?
Thy side, of passengers now forlorn?
Thine tank, with groaning gauges say
"Though cannot sustain,
The three more blocks to thy port!"
Copyright © Miles Winslow | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Miles Winslow Poem
My updated snowcast for later this week…
ODE TO MY SNOWBLOWER!
Oh quiet remover, how you torment me.
Your life is ill-forgotten on long sun-filled days.
You wait in vain, you’ve been pushed aside.
‘Till one day I ask, “Won’t you be by my side?”
One pull, Two pulls, Three pulls, or More?
My sore arm reminds me, “I have forsaken thee!”
No man weeps outwardly, but inside I cry.
Next Spring and Summer, I promise to start you frequently.
Please come back to life and help me remove this white catastrophe…
Copyright © Miles Winslow | Year Posted 2022
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