Because What the World Needs Is More Poems About Mowing
With apologies to Robert Frost
Whoever mowed left tufts of grass
Around small objects on each pass,
Endowing with a verdant halo
A baseball glove, a doll that lay low,
A rock, a stick, a crumpled dress.
Whoever mowed here must possess
A poet’s soul and eye, to see
Such glory in mundanity.
(“Or he’s just lazy”? Don’t I know it —
Perhaps you’ve never met a poet.)
Coleman Glenn 