Huffing and puffing, winded from following the powermower
Over the broad expanse of much-too-large lawn;
A proud carpet of green around our modest home.
And “Yes, I am wearing a cap in the hot sun,”
In answer to my graying son’s query
To his balding, aging father.
And “Okay, I’ll take a break,”
When my equally aging, ever-watchful wife
Appears on the porch deck
In her periodic inspection of yard activity.
Between the steady cycles of never-ending mowing,
There is planting—and replanting—of growing things,
Requiring mulching, watering, and tender love and care.
It is “keeping fit,” along with occasional swimming,
Walking, and a knack for resting when required.
We like to think it is working.