A Wee Little One

It started with a crack.

My routine was clearly recalled:

     to stroll around and make my check,

     kick the tires and torque the hex,

     to glance at every nut and bolt,

     just to see that they would hold,

     down on my knee to look below,

     check the system that puts on this show,

     making sure the leaks are fixed,

     and that the lube is properly mixed,

     for every gear which has a tooth,

     if it runs dry it becomes uncouth,

     and this machine is too a thing,

     that gives itself that I may wing,

     to go where only birds have been,

     to abuse it would be quite a sin,

     but no abuse seems just as bad,

     as a gift of what once was had,

     some say it's just a memory,

     but it's still a part of who I be,

     with inspection a keen eye will find,

     a wee small crack where I unwind,

     although the crack is within spec,

     it gives a wee little thrill to 

                              fly above the wreck.