An Old Tin Can

                                                             

I played the "What Are You" game on Facebook....but they could find nothing for me

I didn't "sext" or "text" or dance madly to a Taylor Swift melody

And when they asked of my favorite color, there was no choice for "rainbows"

So I abandoned the silly game, and the window I did close

So, after giving it lots of thought,  who do I think I am?"

Well, most times these days I feel like an old tin can

Where once I was prime value...and really quite "top shelf"

Now I've been discarded on the side of the road, valued only by myself

I'm a bit rusty and old these days, but should anyone pick me up

A quick rinse and I can hold a cool sip of water to sup

For hobos and those whom life has passed them by

I can serve as campfire coffee cup if they'd only let me try

Oh yes, you have to hold me carefully by my jaggedly severed lid

I hurt a few who handled me wrong....often sorry that I did

But old tin cups can still be warmed by loving fingers laced

About my form as I have hungered for one more sweet embrace

To most these days I'm simply "refuse" to be casually tossed aside

Just a rusty old tin cup no more worthy of the ride

So I lie here beside the road, wind blown and rusting in the rain

And few will ever know of my loneliness and pain

Just once I pray that someone will come along and pick me up

Before the trash man comes and throws me in the truck

I can offer you a cool sip of water, give you respite from a summer sun

If only you would pick me up and allow me to come along