Aftermath

I spent the day today doing something that I am not use to doing, nor do I enjoy doing... I worked in my yard. Not the, "Oh, I planted some flowers today" or "I manicured my garden". No, I cut down more than a dozen trees and weed-eated (I just realized I have never had to spell that word, it's a miserable word, I officially don't like it. It's officially as worthless as the task it represents). Allow me to elaborate, I am not the alpha male who's testosterone is inundated with the elements of the outdoors. I don't hunt, I don't fish, I don't skeet shoot with my buddies whilst drinking a 12 pack of Fatty Natty's. I read poetry and enjoy shoe shopping... Despite all of that I was/am very proud of myself and my days accomplishments. I have more to do tomorrow, and I think I am looking forward to it. While searching for an old Chinese Kung Fu (poorly dubbed) movie to watch, I have quite the collection, I stumbled on a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow book of poetry. The first poem was Aftermath. Enjoy.

When the summer fields are mown, 

When the birds are fledged and flown, 

And the dry leaves strew the path; 

With the falling of the snow, 

With the cawing of the crow, 

Once again the fields we mow 

And gather in the aftermath. 

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers  

Is this harvesting of ours; 

Not the upland clover bloom; 

But the rowen mixed with weeds, 

Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, 

Where the poppy drops its seeds 

In the silence and the gloom.