As the landscaping season finally winds down, my mind decided to compose a poem contemplating weeds. Why, I dont know, my brain is the master, and I am just the symbiotic hands that type out brain impulses. I think that will be my excuse when I strangle my 13 year old, my hands couldnt help themselves…ok, this is a bit of a joke for those with no sense of humor. Not that I have to worry, persons with no sense of humor just dont visit twice!
The word weed has many different meanings. Widow’s Weeds are a mourning outfit, albeit the reason for the name escapes me, as men don’t have WidowERS Weeds. Of course, in our day, WEED is synonymous with marijuana, although I am discontented with their “ownership” of a word that to generations past meant a great deal of work. In Genesis Ch 2 God curses the ground to produce weeds for man to wrestle with “by the sweat of his brow”. From that most uncomfortable punishment that Adam had to endure to my own time period, tenacious fast growing weeds of the nasty “coup” type are always but one missed sweaty session away from completely taking over my flower beds.
While I am not growing produce, or better yet, CANT due to my stupid Home Association, I am constantly at battle with the enemy for clean landscaping beds. I wish I had kept all the receipts over the years related to flower bed maintenance; I bet it is in the thousands. Some people just don’t care about the weeds, let nature take its course. Those lucky souls don’t have a Home Association, the scourge of the suburbs, the Hitler of home ownership. The ability to put a lien on your home for grass that is too high or too many weeds are a boon to yard maintenance companies. I swear they are in bed together. In any event, a home association and society neighbors are good negative enforcers for landscaping laziness. And in my neighborhood, “the weeds liveth not, nor seeds produce”. So the following poem is a humorous poke at our attempt to control these little monsters.
Homeowners are universally agreed
that a perfect yard is free of weeds.
With impotent hypertensive rage,
a circuitous never ending war is waged.
This time consuming, irritating bane,
can drive even the most patient insane.
Yet still those weeds thrive and breed
as alternately we seed, weed and feed.
God’s cursed ground is potent indeed!
Yet in denial, we chemically spray,
temporarily nuking the evil away.
We make it our horticultural creed:
these “vegetational” murderous deeds
will permanently make our yards weed free.
While “the sweat of man’s brow” is our lot,
I say give it up, stop the madness, it’s too hot!
Enjoy life, make peace and ignore this curse.
Revel in your free time and heavier purse!