Why do I not speak boldly
from the valley of dry bones?
Why do I not? I am the sin of sloth.
I'm good enough, the way I am,
to fertilize the lilies on the lawn,
not raise the dead.
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That's lovely, Gail. Here's my Sunday Morning:
Why did I not mow boldly
on the Thursday of dry homes?
Why did I not? I am the sin of sloth.
It’s been enough, these days of rain,
to fertilize the shame of my lawn.
Posted by: SeanH | April 30, 2006 at 01:21 PM
Nice, Sean. I should have mowed Thursday too.
Posted by: gail | April 30, 2006 at 02:47 PM
Well, I did mow Thursday, and I've been sick with allergies ever since. I shoulda gone with sloth.
Posted by: Julie | April 30, 2006 at 02:56 PM
Good stuff, both of you!
Posted by: Scott P | April 30, 2006 at 02:57 PM
Jule, you stay away from them sloths. They look cute and cuddly and all, but they'll rip your guts out with their claws the first time you forget to bring them a cold beer afterwards.
Posted by: gail | April 30, 2006 at 02:59 PM
Afterwards? After WHAT, Gail? Is this some kinda Slothback Mountain thing?
Posted by: Julie | April 30, 2006 at 03:26 PM
That sounds like Jeff Goldstein's armadillo, not a sloth.
Posted by: Major John | April 30, 2006 at 04:13 PM
Little bastard must be incognito.
Posted by: gail | April 30, 2006 at 04:15 PM