A Stain Upon His Soul
Terry cursed the small
patch
of brown soil on his
luscious
green lawn where his
grass
refused to grow after
all of his
love and attention.
For seven
years his front lawn
was marred
by that solitary patch
of brown
that he re-seeded and
tended
to with stubborn pride
every
summer for three
years before
he lost his patience
and cursed
it like Jesus cursed
the fig tree;
and like an ugly port-wine
stain
upon the beautiful face
of his
luscious lawn he let
it be until
he could stand it no
longer, and
upon that brown patch
of cursed
soil he relented seven
fresh rolls
of vibrant green sod
and waited
defiantly to see if
his grass would
die or grow. But sad
to say, the
next summer his brown
patch
came back to haunt him
like
a stain upon his
soul.
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