Futility

Futility

The
Wind
Blows
My
Sprinkler
Showers
To 
My
Neighbors
Flowers,
Instead
Of 
Watering
That
Demon
Lass,
The
Princess
Of
The
Grass.
Capricious,
Willful,
Shy,
She
Grows
Or
Not,
I’m 
Unsure
Why.
I scatter
Seeds,
And 
Stuff
To
Kill
The
Weeds,
Pamper
And
Soothe
Any
Hurt,
And 
In
Patches,
All
I get
Is
Dirt.
“Flourish.”
I cry,
As
I fertilize
And
Nourish,
But 
Weeks
Pass,
And 
Grass
Is
Scant.
It
Won’t
Or 
Can’t
Fill
In
Spots
The
Elm
Tree
Shade 
Has
Made.
I’ll
Have 
To 
Leave 
It
Up
To
God,
But 
Maybe 
If
I tried
Sod....