Rt 2 Box 135, Adams, Minnesota 55909
Here I stand in rain, snow, heat and cold,
the roof over my head is a mailbox of old.
My piston, rod and crank are gone,
so is my mag, got sold for a song.
I’ve stood here for near forty years,
I thirst for some gas and oil for my gears.
The children are gone now and on their heels,
the grandchildren come and spin my wheels.
I’m meant to separate cream and churn the butter,
to grind the corn and do wash for Mother.
But here I stand helpless as can be,
my owner won’t let anyone rescue me.
They say I am priceless and rare,
isn’t there someone out there to care?
If you could rescue and restore me it would be dandy,
but for now I’m a lonely, forlorn Handy Andy.
