The Parks System

By Jim Hagarty

We marvel at the parks in our city,
Tourists are enthralled by the sight,
People come by the thousands,
And linger there by day and at night.

But if it is parks you’re wanting,
Just follow me in your car.
I’ll take you to some magical spots
And we won’t have to drive very far.

They’re the parks that are kept by farmers,
Though few people have ever seen
The wondrous yards around the farms,
The trees and the grass so green.

But why do they keep them, I wonder.
They spend their time off cutting lawns.
Maybe they just love the beauty themselves
Before our brief summers are gone.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.