The Grass, Alas
DICK EMMONS
I’d like to hear the bees again,
The wind against the trees again,
The sounds that used to sweeten Summer’s hour;
But I guess they’re gone forever
Now that man (he’s very clever)
Has learned how to mow his lawn with harnessed power.
The wind against the trees again,
The sounds that used to sweeten Summer’s hour;
But I guess they’re gone forever
Now that man (he’s very clever)
Has learned how to mow his lawn with harnessed power.
Gone the birdies’ evening chatter,
Overwhelmed now by the clatter
As each neighbor trots along behind his put-put;
Whether rotary or reel-type,
Either one is an ideal type
To make every conversation sound like “What?” “What?”
Overwhelmed now by the clatter
As each neighbor trots along behind his put-put;
Whether rotary or reel-type,
Either one is an ideal type
To make every conversation sound like “What?” “What?”
All the traffic-weary masses
Have moved out to where the grass is,
Seeking respite from the din, where things are pretty;
But at eventide one wonders,
As each power mower thunders,
If it isn’t somewhat quieter in the city!
Have moved out to where the grass is,
Seeking respite from the din, where things are pretty;
But at eventide one wonders,
As each power mower thunders,
If it isn’t somewhat quieter in the city!