We Pull the Weeds
We pull the weeds from dawn till night,
and pray for rain on summer's blight,
as muscles strain and blisters bleed;
we will not bow to nature's creed,
but dig and pull with all our might.
What burning zeal she dares ignite;
she sows those thistle seeds in spite,
and mocks our pain as we proceed
to pull the weeds.
If all our birds have taken flight
and blooms once lush are shriveled tight;
if summer fields stand choked in weed
and nature scalds us with her greed,
then stiff intent inflames our fight
to pull the weeds.
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