Mike Willock writes: I love poetry – I always have. In this poetry month at Second, three poems come to mind – all of them old, like me. As aches and pains come and go each day and my mobility decreases, I recall “The One Hoss Shay” (1858) by Oliver Wendell Holmes. The poem is much too long to print here, but the gist is that the Deacon built the shay for the Parson in 1755 so it wouldn’t break down. It had no weak spot – each part was just as strong as the rest. He found the strongest oak and lancewood and ash and whitewood and elm and steel and leather to build it. In 1800 it was good as new and so it stayed until November 1, 1855 when it began to show traces of age. While the Parson was on the way to the meeting house that Sunday morning working on the fifth point of his sermon text he found himself sitting on the ground behind the horse with the shay in bits and pieces all around him.  …It went to pieces all at once, All at once, and nothing first, Just as bubbles do wh