by Ryan M. Roberts
As one of four, I carried a car;
On business of utmost import.
From summit to shore, I traveled afar;
All the while my time growing short.
I rolled along, till my tread was all spent;
Tossed away—thin, worn and unfit.
On the side of the road, to the ditch I was sent;
To die lying still in the pit.
But life ebbed again at the hand of a boy;
A push and a roll was my test.
I found all joy, in the guise of a toy;
These miles are some of my best.