I Bought Every Kind Of Machine That's Known - Grinders, Shellers, Planters, Mowers, Mills And Rakes And Ploughs And Threshers - And All Of Them Stood In The Rain And Sun, Getting Rusted, Warped And Battered, For I Had No Sheds To Store Them In, And No Use For Most Of Them. And Toward The Last, When I Thought It Over, There By My Window, Growing Clearer About Myself, As My Pulse Slowed Down, And Looked At One Of The Mills I Bought - Which I Didn't Have The Slightest Need Of, As Things Turned Out, And I Never Ran - A Fine Machine, Once Brightly Varnished, And Eager To Do Its Work, Now With Its Paint Washed Off - I Saw Myself As A Good Machine That Life Had Never Used.