The Playground
I am too old to play with my tires a rot
I am a wreck. My once fine wood is now torn to splinters
My support decaying, my bridge collapsing
I was once a young one with fresh coated pine.
Now the bugs have come to dine.
My ruins lay here, soon I will sink, rot and decay.
But now I will stay docked in the harbor among the woodchips.
My air disappears; the light getting fainter my last voyage is over.
I had flown from the seas but who will look at my sorry appearance.
I have sailed my last voyage and pleased my masters.
But now I must retire.
By Robin and Vivian