I went out to weed wack under the big tree.

And there, in the tall grass, what should I see?

A long sinewy body; a short stubby head;

a black snake for sure, just what I dread.

I looked around; no rescuers in sight.

No one to save me from terrible fright.

I screamed loud enough to raise the dead

and then a new thought came into my head.

Why wasn't that serpent slithering away?

Did he think I came out with a weed wacker to play?

If he didn't move, I'd give him a whack.

He'd see stars and shriek, "Oh, my poor back."

 

Emboldened with power, I took a step toward him

and saw with relief that it was only a tree limb.

Lenny came running, "Was all that noise you?"

"You bet," I said, "When I see a snake, it's what I do."

The kitties were scared; they ran for cover;

a loud machine had a hold of their mother.

There were weeds and vines and limbs and stuff,

all those things that make me tough.

I weed wacked on, prepared to fight

with any critter who wouldn't take flight.

But all I got for my bravery and zeal

was wacked weeds and a blister on my heel.

A true story, written 4/27/01, on the farm, Neosho, MO

The finished product!

Jan and Lenny Antonsson

17178 Highway 59, Neosho, MO 64850 (Snail Mail)

The Glory Road

We always enjoy hearing from you!

jantonsson@aol.com

This page was edited and uploaded to the web

by Jan Antonsson, Webmeister, on 4/27/01

and last edited on 6/29/09.