Ode To An Electric Lawnmower

O flymo, with thy bold belisha hue,
How like a searchlight dost thou sweep the lawn,
O destroyer of dew!
When of its thick green quiff the garden's shorn,
How brightly dost thou float - a butterfly
Blurr'd in air, dancing across the sward,
Alighting to shear the saracen blades held high,
Before flight like a curling stone, teewards. Lord
Of pasture, reaper supreme,
When thy worm of flex wriggles with power,
Thou art a cat, the lawn lapp'd as fresh cream.
Yet car'st thou nought for yon sentinel, yon flower,
Scything all like a warrior drunk upon blood,
Thy motor a fearful babel;
Skirtless, how thou skirts o'er the ballroom lawn, thy scud
Cutting umbilical cable....

From the book Send-Up