The Fake Isle of Suburbia
I will arise and go now, to the back yard,
And a small garden build there, of lilacs and bleeding hearts,
A bird feeder will I have there, where squirrels stand guard,
And I will weed alone until my hand smarts.
And I shall have some peas there, for peas grow well in the clay,
Competing with the weeds at the top of the hill down to where the tree once was.
There noontime’s all a-flimmer, and dark where the deer droppings lay,
And evening full of the mosquito’s buzz.
I will arise and go now, for always day and night
I hear the weeds blowing in the breeze
While I stand on the freshly mown grass – suburbia’s pleasant sight,
Listening to my neighbor sneeze.
I will arise and go now, to the back yard,
And a small garden build there, of lilacs and bleeding hearts,
A bird feeder will I have there, where squirrels stand guard,
And I will weed alone until my hand smarts.
And I shall have some peas there, for peas grow well in the clay,
Competing with the weeds at the top of the hill down to where the tree once was.
There noontime’s all a-flimmer, and dark where the deer droppings lay,
And evening full of the mosquito’s buzz.
I will arise and go now, for always day and night
I hear the weeds blowing in the breeze
While I stand on the freshly mown grass – suburbia’s pleasant sight,
Listening to my neighbor sneeze.
3 comments:
beautiful poem, if I do say so myself.
I miss lilacs.
So do I. It's not fair that they bloom only two months out of the year.
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