There they are, lined up and waiting for you
They have not an ear, nor an eye to blink
They just stand there asleep in their long queue
Shh, listen, even their snores are in sync
Until you arouse them from their slumber
They squeak and rattle, protesting their fate
To be used as tools, for hauling lumber
No wonder they seem so fully irate
They smash into cars and they roll away
They dislike people who never agree
They do their best to stay out of the fray
The only thing they want is too be free
If you were a shopping cart with four wheels
Would you stop to consider how it feels?
Note: Today's photograph was taken by the poet, and the poem written by the photographer. We hope you love it =]
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