Thought mows the lawn

Thought mows the lawn.
fueled by Passion,
oiled by the bones of the intellectually insane,

and started by Curiosity.

the Mower leans back,

(every decade or so)

looks to the bright sun

and sighs

he looks at the grass,

wild to tame,

and continues to trim

for, the grass is never trim,

always a patch untamed.

the seeds unceasingly

glide

land

this question i ask;

if the mower stops its mowing,

and Thought takes his break,

will the grass continue to Grow?

Author notes

I was writing another poem and thought of the title for this one (then it was a line) and liked it so much, I made a whole new poem.

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