It was getting full now
It sat rusted smiled somehow
Brimming over with garden waste
My mind suggested rest, limbs haste
The front wheel sinking into the mud
the iron soil red like blood
I threw another handful of weeds
The beds were clean as was need
My hands approached and curled around handles
Assuming the weight barrow's contents demand
raising it up in confidence for forward motion
Physics came to disprove my simple notion
sadly the wheel did not turn nor budge
Over-acquainted with deep red mud
Should I endeavour now to empty part
I shove and press not moving the cart
The mystery was how my energy never dulled
I picked it up again like a tide a ship's hull
An energy rose in my humble bones
The wheel turned under my own groan
That grin it wore inside the eaten metal rust
Now but a scowl as I urged and thrust
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