Underfoot, the backyard is squishy soft,
its grass cut within an inch of its life.
Sheared off dandelions and paper whites
are evident. Bright pine needles cover
only places the lawnmower has missed.
We have different aesthetics for the lawn,
my grass cutter and I.
But he remembered
to spare the lilac bush this year. A true
purple, its blossoms will delight someday.
The Douglas fir and white pine will provide
more needles as the years roll on. And you
will walk on green moss and orange needles,
will dance among stubborn tall flowers—home
to dancing butterflies and hopeful birds.
for International Poetry Month Day 7
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
If you quote, credit this page.
© 2020 Susan L. Chast