Where Charlie low-lieth
(with apologies to Tennyson)


WHERE Charlie low-lieth
The grasses pause and die,
Letting Charlie creep on:
But the solemn lawn-mower sigheth,
Four-cycled, amply-octaneth,
With a machine melody,
A plaintive cacophony,
Where Charlie low-creepeth.


At eve the camp-ground boometh
Athwart the spruce and scrub:
At noon the wild motor-cycle hummeth
A salient summer hub-bub.
At midnight satellites zoometh,
And spyeth on our pub.


Weed-kill we mayeth not sprayeth,
Lawns we mayeth not sprinkleth.
So Charlie snaketh and leapeth,
While the stars above all twinkleth,
The garden bank is covereth,
Don't you just a-lovereth?
Under spirea he twineth,
Heuchera through serpentineth,
On thickest mulch reclineth:
Across the verge he sweepeth.
The gardener silently weepeth
Where Charlie low-creepeth.