And above a John Deer
--below is the grass
And he's cutting it clear
The summer's returned
And with it Old Jim
To blow down the grasses
And bend them to him
He's lowered the mower
And set it in gear
Before him, the new growth's
A tremble in fear
"There's walkers need knowing
Where each foot should go,"
He calls to the young grass,
As if it should know
And while they await
The sharp blade turning round,
They dream of a land
With an untrodden ground
With no cows to munch,
And no clippers to trim,
And no riding mower
Sat on by Old Jim
But Jimmy, he sees
With a twinkle in eye
That each leaf lives on
and never should die
As sure as the winter
Thaws out to the muck,
The grass will grow green
--and perhaps with some luck
Old Jimmy will come
On his mower again,
and beat back the weeds
much to their own chagrin
He'll be up on his seat
With his blade spinning true
Calling, "Look out down the way,
I'm a heading right for ya!"
I wrote this for my grandfather on father's day. I sketched it out on the subway while I was heading to my grandparents' place after work, then did a light edit afterwards.
PEACE - Tristan
before || after
