Overgrown

 

I'm pleased as punch,

As happy as can be.

My backyard's overgrown,

And such a sight to see.

 

Last Summer it was St. Augustine,

A grass so thick and green.

Walking on it's like a thick carpet

No competitor to be seen. 

 

The August Saint ruled the roost,

Choking all others out.

The heat and humidity its allies,

It rules without any clout.

 

But that was months ago,

And the Saint now lies dormant.

Time for the thieves to come out and play,

Claim my back yard and transform it.

 

Brought here on the wind,

Or in the bellies of the birds.

They were planted without instructions,

In Mother Nature's words. 

 

When the harsh wind lapses,

And the warm sun shines through.

A drop of Spring rain germinates,

And they break into view. 

 

And grow with wild abandon,

For all of their short lives' worth.

To bloom before my lawn man,

Discovers them in their berth.

 

And cuts them to the quick

Saved now by the nick,

Of neglect and my largess,

As I gaze upon the wonder of their mess.

 

Of varied greens and yellows,

Some thin and wispy, some thick and stout.

Growing too fast to be found out,

And blooming hither and about.

 

Oh, if I were three inches tall,

And would dare venture out.

Into that  jungle so wild and dense;

And would not be found out.

 

By the errant cat,

On his daily round.

I'd view your wonders close up,

So fine as to astound.

 

And wile away the sunlit day.

Small wonders that I've found.

In the brief fragrance of your glory,

Before Summer, once again, comes 'round.

 

Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull

3/27/99



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