The yard man cometh today to blow-out
the sprinklers, his compressor loud enough
to wake the dead. His violent hymn means
enough—enough of the watering, enough
of the rising twice-a-day-three-days-a-week
to keep the grass green, enough of the mowing,
enough of the paying the godawful water bill.
Yet for everything there is a time, a time to say
Uncle, uncle. We give up. Enough’s enough.
Autumn, that flirt, will tease in her usual hues
then quickly croon Softly I will leave you softly
one night all too soon while we’re sleeping leaving
us there to wake cold in the stare of winter’s eye.
Sights and sounds of the mundane woven together with a song to create a masterpiece. I love it, every line.
You sound very depressed to me. Much like most of our country and myself too. Awaiting yet another hurricane in Louisiana. Dear Lord when will it ever end? Longing for a different time.