Sofa

Incongruous you stood,
A sofa in my local wood.
You belong in a living room
But as some poisonous mushroom
You despoil the grace
Of nature’s face.

No point to shout
About a litter lout,
For if you did hear
I fear
That you would not listen.

The glisten
of morning dew
Means nothing to you,
Who would rather view TV,
Than stare at bird or tree.

Doubtless you own a state-of-the-art television
(And a new settee).
Yet you lack the vision
To see
Beyond the dancing screen
To yonder wood,
Where the air is good
And fox and squirrel are oft times seen.

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