His hands are calloused
Skin cracked and leathery
From working the hoses
The water, the tools, and the rocks
Gravel, more gravel than soil
All of it hard scratch
His endless battle waxes and wanes
Freedom expressed through
Grass producing lanes
The hardest on the yard
Looming, implacable,
Scars and scrapes of brown
Exposed earthen flesh
Nothing and the naught
Conspire against him daily
As the sun creeps longingly
Across the miles wide sky
Sometimes blue and beautiful
More often cankered with clouds
A melancholy also beautiful
Making all things glisten
The brooding sky and the man
Share this timeless freedom
Ever rankling with naught and the nothing
In the fight to make grass grow through
Scrabble and scrap, manifesting splendor
And comfort for the rabble
Who may never even notice
The man, the sky, the water
And the work, with care
Consistently and constantly managing
The hard places | JM