I prefer to use a scythe
and be the reaper of the grass,
a silent swoosh as I caress -
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh
and smoothly cut the straws.
It’s so much better than machines,
the pestilence of summer nights.
While all my neighbors eagerly
bring forth machines, and
with Wrrr Wrrrr Wrrrr.
and evening lull’s destroyed
as sacrifice to perfect lawns
of solid carpet green.
(and green turns brown in summer drought)
But as a reaper of the grass.
With razor sharpness of my blade
I cut my summer grass,
to sweetest summer symphonies
from thrushes in the trees.
and as reward my lawn
becomes a meadow full of bloom.
and now forget-me-nots and buttercups,
will colorize my summer world.
I have no need for golf-courts after all,
and now I can enjoy my home
with butterflies and bumblebees.
I’m no menace in the neighborhood
when I caress the grass
with cutting sharpness of my scythe,
I am a silent reaper of the grass.
I have been very absent on my blog for a couple of days. Business travel to Bucharest I was engaged 24-7. For dVerse today we do editing of our poem. This is a poem I originally sent in for the 2 year’s poetry competition, so I decided to rework it, and present this edited version.
August 29, 2013