Now that the frost has gone its rimy way <br />there’s the matter of that long grass <br />that meets the undergrowth <br />at the end of the garden; <br />time to take steps to tidy it. <br /> <br />two rakes awaited my decision: <br />there’s the metal one, which makes hard work <br />but scarifies the moss and aerates the top soil as well – <br />and the wooden one, slightly Japanese looking, <br />its tines further apart, and easier on the arms, <br /> <br />which combs the long grass rather than removes it, <br />setting it up for the strimmer when the grass dries off. <br />But I remembered how last year’s early raking <br />disturbed a sleepy toad and, to my shame, partially dismembered it. <br />These little choices make our road and name us. <br /> <br />I took the gentler wooden rake, and dragged it careful-slow; <br />the reward, a scuttling movement in the grass ahead. <br />Two rakes were there for me to make my choice; <br />I’m glad I took the one less often used, the gentler one. <br />Though looking at the grass, it's hardly made any difference. <br /> <br /> <br />(For all respectful but mischievous poetry fans)<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-toad-not-raken/
