A robot
Myla is a robot
Subservient and soft
She’s an ATM
A bank for them
Work day and night
Here and there
To see their faces light
Sick but she doesn’t care
Myla broke down
Lost her power
But nobody care
Instead looked her down
Everyone left
Myla fretted
Tried her best
To not shed
The door opened
And the pain she carry
Was gone when a man name Larry
Instilled her a new battery.
© Poetry.com