All Too Cutting.
Out to the quiet garden I did go,
The sun’s a’ shining, seeds to sow,
I brought out the iPhone, the better to hear
iTunes to sooth the memories of last nights beer.
For a sadly hungover sort of fellow
The mornings music should be oh so mellow,
AC/DC is all well and good on a Saturday night-
Not so much in Sunday mornings white bright light.
Humming along to the Beautiful South,
Reviewing my morning vow of nil by mouth,
There came an unwelcome cacophony from next door;
Paul Heaton can’t compete with a mowers infernal roar.
Inside I went, cursing, back to bed,
Back to nursing my poor pounding head,
Now my neighbors complaint is understood-
Last night he said mine’s a rowdy neighborhood.