My Lasting Minutes

In a cold room, lonely and lost,
Stands a throne, for no king embossed.

Always faithful, duty-bound,
Unless another user’s around.

You bear the load with steadfast grace,
Though nearby folks then soon leave the place.

Our bond with you is far from tight,
Yet you share in moments of pure delight.

Sometimes a gust may catch us off guard,
During healthy transactions, from our own backyards.

None of us look up to you in cheer,
Except when you’re suddenly not near.

And if one day you clog and stop,
The whole world feels the flop.

We all take you for granted...

...but you know you wear the crown,
As our most important throne in town!

Porcelain scooter, we must ride,
Or in our struggle, our pride gets denied.