When was I built? How did I get here? Have I been forgotten? I was indispensable once. I remember all the tools that hung on my walls, the mower, even that small tractor. Where did they all go? When did they go? The folks that built me, they seldom come around. How long before the weeds and trees cover me forever? I’m not worth fixing, and I’m not worth demolishing. I am just an old shack, hardly serving a purpose. Look at me and think of how many old shacks you have seen, how many do you know. Are you an old shack too?
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