TO REDEEM A DREAM OF FREEDOM

TO REDEEM A DREAM OF FREEDOM

 

Once again it falls on me to be the one to say

that biding my time from here to eternity

to see if the lawn has sprung a flower

watch out for the Honda lawnmower:

for I mow the grass where the Plough aligns.

I try to keep to neat, symmetrical lines.

 

When the first, fresh, redolent, enervating

scent of change begins its fermenting

on the ego-loss breeze it is my duty

to the Natural World and all her beauty

to mow the grass – a foot high with neglect,

it was today, but owing to my respect

 

it’s been cut down, mowed over. Well,

I love the smell of petrol more than the smell

of a fresh Christmas tree, and to do

something with my life is also new

reward in itself. It’s not like I get paid -

but it redeems a dream of freedom in my head.

 

Now when my mother looks out the glass,

she doesn’t have to look at foot-high grass,

but sees her plants in all their little pots,

their little de-institutionalisations and bets,

and the dog rolls around like he’s found

Paradise down there on the ground.

 

◄ SPYING A WILD DEER IN THE COMBE FIELD

THE EMOTIONAL CONDOM OF THE WORLD ►

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