Ode to the Underside of a Lawn Mower

I'm going to Seattle in the morning. (!!!!!) And after that, i have a week off just to pack and move back to Provo. No work, no other engagements, other than to pack, say goodbye, and write stuff. Thus, I think I will be able to post a whole bunch of my story up. However, I don't know how many of you still read this thing, since it's been kind of lax all summer. Maybe I'll send out an email.

Right now, I'm going to write a poem. It's called, ahem, "Ode to the Underside of a Lawn Mower"

Oh, thou great and rumbling, green machinery,
What happy times thy rumblings me have caused;
Though moldy grasses thou hast giv'n to me,
When faced with mowing never have I paused.
Yet when the yard is clean and mowing o'er,
I have yet more to do 'fore work is done,
For tho' the grass is even'd out and more,
Thine blades are still entrapped--'tis never fun.
And so the mighty crowbar do I wield,
And bravely laying 'neath thee on my back,
I poke my fearing face beneath thy shield
To give the nasty clippings there a whack.
And then when all is through and face is stained,
I then stand up, although my back is pained.

That is my poem. And yes, it is a Shakespearean Sonnet, not to be confused with the less appealing (to me) Petrarchan or Spenserean Sonnet. Indeed.