Watering Can

This poem was conceived and birthed due to a photo prompt from Magpie tales merging with my fertile mind. I love the heck out of these prompts.

Check out the blog and allow your pencil to move:

 

How is your life like a

Rusted watering can?

Its purpose to hold water

Yet in repose, it is

Pummeled Rainfall off tree

Branches and seduced by

Morning dew and drips from

Overhanging spider webs

 

Motionless, on the stoop

The rusted watering can

Waits. For someone to

Pick it up and use it for

It can not move on its own

Or can it? Should it? Must it?

How is my life like a

Rusted watering can?

 

Comments

[One Prayer Girl]

What a delightful Magpie poem you've written. This is my first time writing a Magpie Tale and my first time reading them. It's fun and there is so much creativity displayed.

PG

[Tumblewords]

Interesting piece! Delightful read.

[Kavita]

Absolutely lovely!!!
It's a blunt reminder too, in a way...
We too sometimes just act as watering cams, waiting to be "picked" and "used"... And sometimes, we choose to "move".
So beautifully you've brought it out here...

[Helen]

You pose an intriguing question .... nicely done!

[brian]

oh you give us things to ponder in your magpie...arent we all just waiting to be use-ful...maybe...i like to think so. smiles.

[Jingle]

pleasant take..
:)