Sorry...couldn't help:
St. Peter sees a soul approaching pearly gate riding a lawn mower and says:
Snapperfreak, it seems to me
That your lawn wasn't kept as it ought to be.
You ought to mow right by the opening there,
And never ride on easy chair.
My sight is dimmed, St. Peter said,
But I don't like the way your lawns are shaved.
They're cut too wide and outward pitch,
They'd look better narrow, and cut Square as a ditch.
It's a fine gospel, by which I pray,
But the chosen few I expect to mow the right way.
St. Peter sat quiet, and stroked his beard,
Then pressed a button upon the brim.
And said to an Angel, who answered the doors,
"Escort this lad around my lawns."