Gardening

To the garden I gleefully go
Harvest is here what’s there to show
An apple tree plump as you know
Zucchini thick run to and fro

Carrots plenty fill the dirt
Cucumber, pumpkin, strawberry dessert
Corn in its stalks, a prickly hurt
As thorns from the roses grab hold of my shirt.

My baskets are filled, my fingers now numb
From pulling and pulling the art of green thumb
But, what’s that, I ask, to myself feeling dumb
Another small plant hid beneath rotten plum

Its nothing I’ve planted, it must be a weed
I guess I must pull it to save other seed
But hands reaching down, fingers did not agree
Instead found myself laying under the tree

“It can wait til tomorrow” I say in my head
One small weed won’t make all my other plants dead.
So I clean up my hands, fingers blistered and red
Then take to my room and drop hard on bed.

The morning a cockatoo bellows aloud
I take to the kitchen where my vegetables crowd.
With cutting board, knife, and hunger abound
I make a good meal, store the rest all around.

In cupboards and fridge, overflowing with fruit
On the table three type of vegetable root
Dust from their cleaning now covers my boot
Making all of my sweeping a point that’s now moot

When I finally put those shoes in the garage
I walk out to sunset, at the garden I pause
The plants still sit happy I give them a nod,
Then see the green weed like a horrid mirage

Again I reach out, but the sun’s getting low
“I guess I can wait till tomorrow” I go
Its only a small weed its no hefty foe
Early tomorrow I’ll pull it, I know.

Then morning and morning went past every day.
Chores filled to the brim making me always say
“I’ll do it tomorrow” in different ways
From committed salute to casual ending of day.

While I rested and worked the weed simply thrived.
Till it fought with the tree to keep staying alive
Its roots dug deep, feet at least five
Its base was bigger than four large beehives.

I woke up so startled to see such a sight
And yet, watched it grow from just a small sprite
I run to the base and prepare for a fight
While I pull and I pull using all of my might

Not even a budge, does the weed end up moving.
I smack my own head knowing that I am losing
I grab a sharp shovel the base I’m perusing.
To see how to take this big weed from its musing

I hit and I smack, I pull and I axe
It’s not going anywhere, that the facts
It’s not just the muscle that my arm lacks
But help from another to get some new tacts.

One friend comes across the road to with his shoes
Surprised as could be when he saw the big view
He calls another, and another two.
And soon we are more than just a small few.

Together we pull, we axe, and we tare
The weed fights real strong, its roots thick, they bare
But after we shovel, dirt piled in the air
The weed let’s ground go, together we stare.

So never forget, when your harvesting dear,
A weed may seem but small interfere
But left there for too long becomes quite severe
Alone you can’t pull it, so keep your friends near.