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Friends tell me they are worried,
That I look pale and drawn,
It’s this never ending struggle,
With the moss that haunts my lawn.
Many the nights I lie awake,
Toss and turn ‘til dawn,
Trying to think of ways to fight,
The moss that haunts my lawn.
Fantasies of flawless green,
Overtaken in the morn,
By a mottled patchwork pattern,
Of the mosses in my lawn.
Raked and spiked and dusted,
Muscle, sweat and brawn,
But every time I turn around,
There’s more moss in my lawn.
Studied weighty journals,
Did research ‘till I yawn,
Hired a horticultural guru,
But the moss still haunts my lawn.
I’ve come to the conclusion,
That I am just a pawn,
In some game between the grasses,
And the mosses in my lawn.
Or else I am the object,
Of some wicked leprechaun,
That has been sent to torture me,
Spreading mosses in my lawn.
When my worn rake is stilled,
Please pray my soul to save,
And kneeling take some comfort,
From the moss that haunts my grave.
By Paddy Mulhern
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