The Mower

A retired postman
Used to mow my lawn
He’s no longer with us
To a better place he’s gone

Now I own a Mountfield mower
In truth, fifty-fifty
I bought it with a neighbour
And it’s fast and rather nifty

But the eye of heaven
Has shone hot, shone bright
The grass is short and yellow
As though suffering blight

There’s no need to mow the lawn
I read a book instead
And the Mountfield mower
Is snoozing in the shed