I Just Cut the Grass

I just cut the grass, and
the cat is checking out my work.

She’s critical, but helps out,
grazing contentedly on
sprigs of errant chaff
that I missed in my hurry
to finish.  Clouds are gathering
on this cold, Holy Saturday.

Now I tarry in my webbed chair,
to sip a cold bottle of beer,
and wonder how green
the world has grown.

Knock-out roses pop
(their vermillion tips shout
in the more common green of fern and ivy)
and red cherries fill the green cherry-tree.

Soon from shattered shells
new life will rise
as mockingbirds fly
to fill shrill beaks
with cherries.

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