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Mowing

I like the way my mowing goes. Beside my mower green grass flows; at my elbow is a rose.

Behind me, smooth and neat lawns spread to house and shrub and flower bed. I bend a shoulder, duck my head

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tomiss the low bough of a tree. I like the views ahead of me, the red-roofed barn, a grove and three

cows on a hill, the soft blue sky. Sometimes, across it, swallows fly and clouds, like ships, go sailing by.

Oftentimes I ride into the sunset's glow, or may pursue a pale moon till my work is through.