Friday Anthology
John Clare Stokes
it was the yard that took it hard
the sweet gum scars were healing
slash pines rosin no longer oozing
jagged axe marks marking the spot
about two feet above the ground
the lilies were again daring to come around
wiser this year from the beating
they took from the yellow shovel
the swing sighed from the stillness
wishing wistfully for some silliness
sky was trying to paint last years blue
it just couldn't seem to get the proper hue
sand pile struck out from the box
spread all about the one acre lot
once scattered never to return
for the castle roads and rivers yearned
even the caterpillars missed the little slayer
upon the asphalt being pillared
yards deserve better than this
yards little lads should never have to miss.
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