There is a tile on the roof of the garage
That seems to prefer to be on the ground
Three times the man has been to fix it
Yet if the wind blows more than a puff
It ends up face down in the mud
I know a tile is an inanimate object
A thing carved from local slate quarries
So, does this one possess a mind of its' own
Or is it, perhaps, just haunted?
Marilyn Shepperson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-tile/
