Monday, October 14, 2013


I think that I shall never see
A thing as noisy as a tree.

A tree whose falling leaves are prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair,

But now as Autumn comes around
Drops her foliage on the ground.

The crisp October air resounds
With gasoline-powered engine sounds

As neighbors to a man forsake
The quiet swish of the garden rake,

And instead place their trust in
The infernal din of internal combustion.

Poems are parodied by fools like me,
But only a leaf-blower can ruin a tree.

(With apologies to…etc.)