My bedroom fan was all merry
Spinning wild like a hurricane
But quiet as if so thoughtful.
Until one morning
Started complaining
Like an old lady
Who can't stop nagging.
It would spin, spin and spin
With loud bothered squeak
For a short while
As if to call my attention
To something that needed fixing
Then just as quickly
Would again become meditative
Just spinning all day.
After sometime,
There came another sound yet again
Now squeaking and creaking
And lasted longer than before
It was maddening.
And perhaps it was mad too
Due to the neglect.
Then there came a day
When I turned on the switch
All it could do now was
A few minutes of motion
With the persistent squeak, and creak
Like a person choking and gasping
Trying to get back to life
Pulled all of it together
And made one last try to spin hard
Like it always did
But come to a halt
Too tired of having to convince
And too sick to spin.
It had had enough.
It was time to fix the fan.
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