Sunday, June 12, 2016

Mowing, a poem


It is not hard
to mow the yard,
but it takes lots of time;
so with each pass
through the grass,
I make up another rhyme.

I am not one
to just get done
and push that mower along;
but instead,
in my head,
I’ve written many a song.

Now I’ll confide
it’s nice outside,
blue skies and singing birds;
yet in plain fact
they only distract,
as I try to remember my words.

Stephen Brooke ©2016

an exercise in pointless doggerel

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