Musings of a philosophical kind, while filing a screw
An iron screw. I file, I cut and slice.
It needs to be of the right size.
I have pretty hands,
And they have cuts .
My fingers are strong,
And my eyes have held
The screw in their sight for long.
But I filed this one a bit too far.
A new one, and on I harp.
I walk in time collecting scars.