Lawn Care

The sun is high in the summer sky And no clouds to be seen The grass is high neath the summer sky And growing tall and green The mower starts with growling roar And cuts through swaths of fescue This mowing proves a sweaty chore And soon I beg for rescue My lawn’s expanse appears to grow The longer that I labor Seems to expand as I cut each row The mower becomes my sabre And I a true knight dueling a foe Who laughs at my every advance He stands unyielding before each blow And about the green our martial dance With never a sign of surrender The fight goes on between us two Which shall prove to be the pretender Victory comes with the aim that’s true And at last my foe lies low Beneath the heel of the victor Yet even now it grows Who shall win next Saturday? Sadly there is no predictor