"Bleak" written June 5, 1998

A yard so ratty and brown
Lies right across the street,
For no one clean it or mows it.
It would be such a feat.

When summer goes and winter comes
It gets no pull by the hand.
The weeds, they die there in the yard.
They strip that precious land.

A soul begins all fresh and new.
Clean slate, some say, to write on.
If one is kept up like this yard,
I pity that poor John.

What a life, so black,
When kept up like a loo.
Guard phrases that they speak
So that yard is not you.



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