Rust and Wisdom

Rust and Wisdom

There once was a wrench, rusty and wise,

With wear on its face, and truth in its eyes.Though the grip had long lost its former surprise
It knew the value of patience and cries.

An old saw with teeth all jagged and chewed,

Hangs on a wall where it’s always been stewed.It’s seen every trial, though deeply imbued
With tales of hard work and some misdeeds.

A hammer now dulled, its head full of tales,

Of nails and old wood and rust’s slow trails.It’s not about shine or a polished façade
But the bruised knuckles that made it applaud.

A chisel that’s tired, yet never let go,

Still shapes the rough timber, its skills all aglow.Though rust may be clinging, and edges may show
Its wisdom’s a beacon when times are low.

An old pliers, once firm, now bent out of shape,

Still holds the old wires, though it might escape.Its power’s diminished, but it still grips the bait
Teaching the value of patience, not haste.

A screwdriver with rust that’s now set in place,

Holds on to its duty with formidable grace.It turns the old screws in a cluttered space
Proving some tools wear with a dignified face.

Though they’ve aged and been marked by time’s hand,

Each tool still serves in its own rusted stand.For wisdom’s not lost, though it may seem unmanned
In rust and old tools, true value is planned.