On the morning of bedewed grass
My bare walk hardly leaves notes,
Only bird notes, from park trees.
The grass cowers in a wet silence,
But raises heads once in a while.
Its wetness tingles an underfoot.
A painful thorn peeps sometimes
From shadows hid in self-respect.
A noisy nose on the green bench
Dumps a breath of fresh dirty air
But takes much more of green air.
A broken lawn-mower lies listless
Throwing up its hands in despair
Powerless to cut its pride to size.
Cold feet barely manage to sink
In its bleary top submissiveness
Moving away in numb pantlegs
Before park sprinkler gets them.