My single purpose has come to an end,
And yet I continue to work.
My tattered wrinkled self intends,
To finish free of murk.
To end my time with sunny rays,
Gleaming through my rips and tears,
Reminding me of younger days,
Stories I shall surely share.
Alas for now I remain here,
Hanging off a bench,
Releasing now and then a tear,
My thirst will never be quenched.
Francis Tikava
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/washed-up-tablecloth/
