Richard, I know you've done lots of mowing, and would you do me the favor of posting your fine mowing poem here? I'm generally opposed to members posting original work on Mastery, but I love your poem, and I'll post one of my own which is apposite to this discussion. The night I heard that Hope had gone to his long home, I had a dream, recorded in "The Cortege," one of the best poems in my forthcoming book:
The Cortege
Last night I dreamed that A. D. Hope was dead.
Thomas Hardy was riding on the hearse
as Frost strolled slowly at the horse’s head.
“His judgments were as measured as his verse,”
the elder of those two ‘proud songsters’ said.
The horse had no idea whom he was towing;
no mourners lined the silent streets they crossed.
“His 'Western Elegies' rival 'The Going',
and though I grant it grudgingly,” said Frost,
“his 'Hay Fever' is better than my 'Mowing'.”
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