Broken Ice Maker Poem by Bill Grace
Broken Ice Maker
God grants to us a running refrig
It is the ice maker that is broken
Cost of repair too much.
My Puritan genes recoil
Wife and daghter do not understand
Why Dad does take a stand
Our own ice we will make.
In old time trays cust to fit
Our cubes produced in an appropriate niche.
Life made a little less mechanical
To slow us down and help remember
It is not just ice machines that end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/26/2026 8:22:52 PM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
