The grass had grown, was far too long,
My mower wouldn’t cope.
What if I trimmed it down a bit?
That might work. I could hope.
I got the trimmer all set up,
The dog would not go in,
Just stood there with a lolling tongue
And all-too-knowing grin.
“As if,” she seemed to say to me,
“You’ll manage on your own.
You need to buy a herd of goats…
You seen how long it’s grown?”
She had a point, ‘cause what with work,
And frost and rain and dew,
I couldn’t cut it when I should
And it just grew and grew.
And I’d already cleaned the pond,
The car and washed the floor,
But that was someone else’s house…
So, home to tackle more.
I fired up and got to work,
The trimmer slicing grass,
There’s green stuff flying everywhere
With every sweep and pass.
I’ve got the knack, it’s working well
And looking neatly mown…
But after just a yard or two
My muscles start to groan.
The dog looks on, all smug now,
And she says, “I told you so.”
But now I’ve got a tonsured lawn…
The rest will have to go.
The trimmer is vibrating
And with every pass I make
My wrists are swelling nicely
And my back is one big ache.
I persevered and got it done
And stood back to admire.
I couldn’t lift a whisker now,
My hands are pretty dire.
By this time I can’t hold a cup,
I’m needing rehydrating,
And though I’ve switched the damned thing off
My bones are still vibrating.
The small dog saunters over,
Looks me right between the eyes,
“What do you think you’re playing at?”
It’s really no surprise…
“You’re getting old,” the small dog says,
“One day you’re going to heed me.”
She pee’d upon my lovely lawn.
“Now come on in and feed me.”