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Mower’s Song

Tim Murphy

Apr 01 2014

0 mins

Mower’s Song

 

The boy who mows my yard

thinks that he once was I.

He pushes pretty hard

under the prairie sky.

He has no belching motor

or right-hand discharge chute,

no madly whirring rotor,

and he’s no longer cute.

 

Just a front-mounted reel

geared to a rubber wheel,

and that is how the grass

made on the Lord’s Third Day

will fall as fragrant hay

until I too shall pass.

 

Tim Murphy

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