A poem by Trent James Wilkie
Following behind you on a slushy, bog like road,
your visage portrays a timeless tale
of days when your shivering metal hulk
would slash through the neolithic snows
upturning rocks and the corpses of your enemies,
as you clear a spark laden path
for humanity’s future.
Stay back 15 meters?
Nay!
I would have to stay back a hundred
to allow my eyes to fully engorge themselves
on your opulent majesty.
The Trent Wilkie 