and so i worry on where it will go
and who will take it and use it for
what or when or how - what life
will it lead - it has led such a quiet
life. sitting and waiting for the next
time to mow down the flowers and
blades of grass woodsworth wrote
all about*. in part i felt it was mine
since he was allergic to the very
blades that inspired him to purchase
so much - this yellow contraption
made for acres upon acres - which
turns at a radius none to zero down
the branches that randomly fell to
the ground. i will miss it - and i will
always wonder what type of life it
will have. what work horse it will
become or what hands it will tumble
down - it has no mind of its own. no
soul. still the time i sat upon it magnified
my thoughts, made me pause at my own
existence as i dispersed life at will
