Gardening

This time of year reminds me of

Granny and Grandaddy Rutherford's garden.

They always planted a large garden to share

with family and friends.

Weeder's Thoughts

I have raked the soil and planted the seeds

Now I've joined the army that fights the weeds.

For me no flashing saber and sword,

To battle the swiftly marching horde;

With a valiant heart I fight the foe,

My only weapon a trusty hoe.

No martial music to swing me along,

I march to the robin redbreast song.

No stirring anthem of bugle and drum

But the cricket's chirp and the honey bee's hum.

No anti-aircraft or siren yell

But there's Trumpet-creeper and Lily-bell.

With a loving heart and a sturdy hand,

I defend the borders of flower-land;

While high over Larkspur and Leopardsbane,

A butterfly pilots his tiny plane;

But I shall not fear his skillful hand,

My enemy charges only by land.

Would those who lead nations in war and hate

But lay down their guns at some garden gate,

There, bury- their bombs and their bloody deeds,

And join the grand army that's fighting the weeds.

-ALMA B. Eymann