THE COG

THE COG

There once was a day

When an everyday cog

Got tired of turning

In perpetual slog.

His whirling and twirling

Kept his mind in a spin

Thus puzzled he pondered

"Where to start? Where to end?"

He asked of his neighbor

(In his round-about mien)

"Is this ceaseless cycling

Why wheels were machined?"

He said, "I've got to roll.

I've no time so to speak.

Better order some oil.

You're starting to squeek."

Around and about then,

Our poor cog disparing,

He riddled his reason

And questioned his bearings.

But they couldn't answer

Being pressed to exertion

(Our cog wasn't certain

It wasn't coercion!)

He called for a meeting,

A gathering of gears,

Where he thundered and roared

Having wound round for years.

When over and under

Every sprocket and cam

Went suddenly silent

As if they'd been jammed.

Then a big hairy hand

Gave a twist of a wrench,

Now our hero the Cog's

Resting up on a bench.

Rob Anderson  (6/17/2002)