Another

I wrote this poem in high school also. I wrote it about a real hole that I dug. I had a flight jump suit that I wore. No shoes, I dug little ledges that I stood on to get in and out. My dad warned me that a person or animal might fall in. So I stretched barb wire around the top of it.

When I turned the poem in the response was an assumption that the poem was about death. That is not what I had intended. I had always thought graves were 6 feet deep not 7.

                    Shovel, Buckets, pick,

    When I was little I dug with a stick,

    Come rain or shine

                    digging for fun is divine

    I dug a hole 7 feet deep

    The walls of the hole are very steep.

     shoveling is hard

     rocks make me retard

     Someday I'll be done

     and  so will my fun.