Saturday, April 15, 2006

Why I Love To Mow My Yard

The grass tenders no resistance,
As it stands tall and quiet;
I mow it and in my wake,
It lies small and silent.

The rains do come
As they always will,
To revive the broken spirit;

The grass grows tall,
Above it all,
And that to its own merit.




Well, I do declare. Not bad for a hillbilly.

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