MAN WITH A SCYTHE


In fifty-six, my father spoke
Of Mr. Brandt -- he was rather old,

My dad saw him, outside of his house
With a great big scythe -- it was anything but cold,

Brandt was fed up with two-foot clover
And determined to cut some, come rain or shine,

The scythe was taller than the wizened German,
Every ten seconds took a swath so fine,

My parent could stand the suspense no longer --
Crossed the street to ask of his birth,

Old Brandt replied, being rather outspoken,
"I'm ninety-three years on God's green earth."

by D. Edgar Murray