Grasping Nettles

My father showed me how to pull nettles without being stung. With a confident and downward grasp and without hesitation, To grip and flatten the stinging hairs by following their direction but I have never reached to do it, or had any to pull in my city garden. I watched him dig sods with a spade and turn them over row by row So that weeds would bury beneath each shiny clod and not regrow But I have never had more of a garden than a small brick-paved courtyard.