Old Rusted Pin

Asking me

To look for an old rusted pin,

Buried beneath the sand

Of a desolate desert

In the glowering heat of the sun

Away from shade

Is a tall order, also

Purposeless and risky.

What would I gain

By retrieving a thrown-away?

It will not remind me,

Of any failure of mine,

Handling it could be painful,

It can be or not be a seed of a myth,

Or a mere denial of facts;

Surely it cannot be the nectar,

To quench my thirst

Or add to my knowledge of the world.

What would it be no one knows.

Why should I be punished by the Sun?

Why must I suffer?