Discerning with cries he's often despise,
He was never a prize for one his size.
Time now flies to his demise,
He hopes he'll rise to be more wise.
He never dreamed that he was mean,
Letting off a little steam, he'd make a scene.
His life's demean wasn't keen,
He runs himself like some machine.
A new life now is store, never more to bore,
He stands on the floor next to the door.
He's got more for you in store,
The care of his life you will adore.
He fell with a thud into the mud,
Just like a big spud, he was pulled from the crud.
His life renewed like a flood.
He's been washed in the blood.
Though he's old, so he's been told,
He was made from a mold, that was hard to hold.
His life rolled into the fall,
His spirit was cold, but now it's gold.