On a morning of bedewed grass
A bare walk hardly leaves notes
Only bird notes from park trees.
The grass cowers in wet silence,
But raises its heads once a while
Its wetness tingling the underfoot
A painful thorn peeps sometimes
From shadows hid in its self-respect.
A noisy nose on the green bench
Dumps a breath of fresh dirty air
But takes much more of green air.
A broken lawn-mower lies listless
Throwing up its hands in despair
Powerless to cut its pride to size.
Winter-cold feet barely manage to squish
In its bleary-eyed upper submissiveness
Flying away before the sprinkler gets them.
