I wasn’t born
to be a sword,

to be the thrust point
of any fight;

I’ve lived a whole life
of blunted regret over that.

I was asked
to be a shovel,

to dig deep,
put in unsung work;

instead I lay there 
dissatisfied, a waste of steel.

It’s not too late
to shrug off self pity of course,

but now instead of
turning my own soil,

I should help dig others’ gardens,
load them with compost

I’ve been hoarding
for a lifetime,

provide some hope
that what will grow there

will fuel the next generation
of steel.