So, I Ponder. . . . .
As the month of March comes to its end
I mow a client’s lawn and notice
Acorns and leaves do fall
And my thoughts begin to form.
Days are shorter, nights are long
And soon daylight savings will end;
So, I ponder and contemplate the mystery
That everything has their end
From plants, to the grass I mow
I consider, all things have their season
Some plants a show of colour bright
Others not; but when one looks they are
At their best; like the grass (or lawn)
Which grows ready to be clipped;
So, I ponder and contemplate the mystery
That everything has their end
The Yellow flowers in their lawn
Puffs of gold; then I cut them to rest
But if they be in the garden
I’d wait - until I have fork and trowel
Be on my knees (say a prayer of thanks)
And remove them to the bin;
So, I ponder and contemplate the mystery
That everything has their end
I wonder, why there is this passion
To preserve and keep what we plan
Yet, we know things come to an end.
Time and strength spent to weed and sow
To admire lovingly kept lawns and gardens
When there’s no guarantee they will be kept;
So, we ponder and contemplate the mystery
That everything has their end
By Stephen Douglas
©stephen c douglas; 02 April 2016