In his eighties, our neighbor
still mows his grass while
singing “Hard Hearted Hannah”

as loud as the mower.  When
he stops for a break or
to wipe away sweat, he gives 

Hannah a rest, then
starts mowing again,
singing as loud as ever.  He

doesn’t have a great voice,
but takes pleasure in the song,
in the singing,

an early afternoon
with azure sky
and a few clouds.

– Kenneth Pobo