Mechanical Giants

• Emma Spires, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2019

Passer-by’s stop and stare,
as I tower over them in the air.
My days of work have long gone by.
The phrase - she’ll never die,
was really just a lie.
The layers of dust begin to set
and the rust starts to become a threat.
Alone in the field I grow with deterioration.
Knowing I will never be appreciated by this generation.
Now that I acknowledge this is the place I will rest,
I feel the wild flowers begin to tighten in my chest.