Yard Monkey

There is nothing more beautiful to my eyes than the wild freedom of a forsythia waving in the wind.

So why, oh why, do some folks clip and torture them into ugly, perfectly symmetrical and static spheres?  

What IS the drive to make absolutely everything fit into a proscribed neat little box? 

I suspect it must be the small confines of a tidy, unimaginative mind.

 And so, the yard monkey arrives, at an address that shall go unmentioned, with his industrial mowers, gas powered weed wackers (he even weed wacks the woods, if  you can believe that!) and Round Up herbicide, every Wednesday morning, with the regularity of a clock.    

 

 

Old Billy's yard monkey arrives with machines

To torture and shred every thing that grows green


Wild is verboten, no shrub may grow free

Old Billy's obsession is clipped symmetry


The monkey's big mower devours grass and leaves 

He uproots and poisons those dastardly weeds


This yard's near as tidy as Billy's small mind

But lucky for monkey, it's not fossilized


The weeds will come back as wind scatters seeds

And grass will be high again by next week


Our yard, on the other hand, couldn't get much more chaotic and free.  Not exactly a model to follow either.  

I shall aspire to the golden mean....gotta get on my own weeds.  But I think I'll wait until the weather cools off.  


Be Well and Good Luck,

Martha Maria 

copyright Martha Maria, 2012



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