Friday, June 11, 2010
Death of a Lawn Mower
Death of a Lawn Mower
It died in its sleep,
dreaming of grass,
its knives silent and still,
dreaming too, its handlebars
a stern, abbreviated cross
in tall weeds. Where is he
whom it served so well?
Its work has come to nothing,
the dead keep to themselves.
David Ignatow
Posted over on The Writer's Almanac
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