Lovely shade, you villain
Who steals away our sun,
And winter leaves
Upon the breeze
Tis here that your journey’s done.
Moist jungle have we
In the summertime,
A rainforest of our own,
But no grass, it seems,
Can grow in the yard
That surrounds our lovely home.
I’ve spread lye to sweeten the soil
Which creeping moss does sour,
I’ve spent thousands on the finest seed
And spread it hour after hour.
We’ve watered our plot
Until the well went dry,
We’ve folded our hands
And looked to the sky,
But still the grass won’t grow.
If you know any tricks
Please tell us,
Or share with a nomadic bard,
And I suppose that I might recognize the fellow
When he's standing ankle-deep
In the mud of our yard.