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_Camera_
They say the camera never lies.
Mine doesn't.
But it has a story of its own
Untold.
It sits there on the shelf
Hiding a hole in the dust,
Its death foretold by idelness;
Its life usurped by another.
The unused film
decaying slowly in the spool,
Faded dreams of glorious colour.
Like the days of steam; of type; of candles:
All now relics from a past era,
So too my camera.
Is this what it's like to grow old?
Unwanted? Unused?
Skills still sharp
But irrelevant;
Left to languish
While the upstart gadget takes your place?
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Spudley Strikes Again
www.BadPuns.com
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