Zita's Sonnet
Is our neighbor’s grass truly greener? Perhaps it’s a twist
of light: like an aging magician’s flick of the wrist
time tints our yellowed dreams with faded blue,
thus overcoming the rose colored lenses of youth.
It might be our failing vision: all that exists
beyond our fence is blurry, and so resists
our attempts to see the patches that are rough;
or maybe we just don’t look close enough.
It may just be we waste so much of time
examining our own lawn’s flaws; so we find
every single spot of death, and ignore
the multititude of colors we knew before.
We never hear the discontented sigh
as our neighbor admires the way our grasses lie.
[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited October 16, 2004).]
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