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