It chewed its way on through the metal,
Teeth worn, struggling to pierce the lid;
But remorselessly the handle continued to turn
And the opener struggled on.
Innumerable lids throughout its tiresome life
Had been devoured by its incessant bite;
But age was creeping on -
Gone were the days of its youth when lid after lid
Sank, mortally wounded, into the syrup.
Soon, as must always happen,
It would he free of bondage,
But more mortifying still,
It would he thrown into the final resting place
Of its enemy, the tin...
The garbage bin!