NaPoWriMo 18

This hatchet has seen honest labor, I think,
but not this century.

I wonder about the last person to use it,
as the tool that it was.

When he put it down, in the corner of the shed,
did he know it was the last time?

That its work was over,
with that last quiet clink
of metal coming to rest
on stone.

DO NOT EXIT, ONLY ENTER

We interrupt this poetry for an Amusing Sign; captured in Lexington, Massachusetts.

That is all!