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Macbeth and His Lawnmower
My day of mowing has fallen into the sere
The yellow leaf, the brown leaf, still more leaves
Leaves, leaves, leaves, heaps of leaves, Birnam leaves - aaaaargh!
I look toward Birnam – weeds begin to move!
And that mowing which should accompany old age
I must not look to have; the mower won’t start -
Curses, both loud and deep, against false starts
The carburetor-breath which mocketh me
My day of mowing has fallen into the sere –
Methinks – methinks me’ll haveth another beer
