Mend It
Late hot noon, the doorbell announced
Siesta ruined, I raged towards the door
There he stood, a toolbox in hand, a short, old man
"Your fan needs mending?" He pronounced
Pronounced frailty made me wonder
I glanced at the roof and his short stature
His diminutive bag couldn't hold ladder so high
waste of time, Oh! such a blunder
"Blunder in sight," He said aloud
"Worry not, it will be fixed in no time."
I looked away to not let him see me grimace
This old man was not to be cowed!
Cowed? His conviction, I did hate
His wobbly stool was soon above the ground
He wrapped up fast and while leaving, gave me advice
"Mend it miss, before it is late!"
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