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.)