15. Gears

Oure reconnaysence bot was a stoute fellowe
whoos nayme was Gears. Lyke a cello

was his voyce, lowe and sonorousse.
He mooned of troubles manie, onerousse.

He coulde leap, using rockettes of winde,
a thousande feet, to surveye the lande.

Stronge as a grizzilie, he woode rarelie flag,
but complayned of paynes in arme or legge

that aire was eroding hym, watere rusting
his everie joint, and earthe encrusting

his pystons. But when any surgeyone
looked him over, they founde no burgeyon-

-ing of blakke decaye, nor clogging.
Scratched their chinnes. What coulde be dogging

this healthie Autobot so mucche?
He is firm of frayme, tyghte of clutch.

Gears woulde merely growle, "These quakkes
knowe nothing of the payne that rakkes

my bodie!" And with hede a-throb
would go on to compleat his job.