My Lawning Gear

Moaning it’s that time of year,

must drag out my lawning gear.

Lay a rake upon my yard,

starting early – but it’s hard.

Trimming bushes – mowing grass,

given choices I would pass.

Bugs a crawlin’ in my nose,

‘nother in my ear it goes.

Dormant muscles are now sore,

ache all over – know the score?

Now it’s getting close to noon,

hope this torture’s over soon.

Too late now to make a switch,

rat me out or be a snitch?

Next year I won’t have this grief,

mow a blade – rake a leaf.

Here’s my angle – please take notes,

Green concrete or Billy Goats.

 

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