It’s early morn, but workers are abroad:
The garbage men pick up the weekly haul
Of savory trash through which possums have pawed
Leaving our neat containers all a-sprawl.
Then trimmers from the city’s tree patrol
Come rumbling up the road to park nearby
And soon another camphor that’s now whole
Will be dismembered and in cords will lie.
Add now the rumbling roars from overhead
As early morning flights in fleets descend
Where tourists loving Disney have been led
To worship at the shrine of Let’s Pretend.
So, what’s to make of all this busyness?
A verse, of course, which may the Muse now bless.