<\/p>\n
Whose weeds these are I\u2019m sure I know.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve watched them as they sprout and grow.<\/p>\n
No time to rest or sip a beer\u2014<\/p>\n
I better run and grab my hoe.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My little garden slowly clears<\/p>\n
of undergrowth. I persevere.<\/p>\n
My fingers blister; shoulders ache<\/p>\n
This longest evening of the year.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I give my aching arms a shake,<\/p>\n
Lean on my hoe to take a break.<\/p>\n
What drudgery it is to reap<\/p>\n
This loathsome crop, for goodness sake.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I strike each weed a killing blow<\/p>\n
Knowing three more will soon regrow.<\/p>\n
It is the gardener\u2019s quid pro quo\u2026<\/p>\n
Those miles of rows to rake and hoe.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Copyright 2013 by Paul Fleisher<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Whose weeds these are I\u2019m sure I know. I\u2019ve watched them as they sprout and grow. No time to rest or sip a beer\u2014 I better run and grab my hoe. My little garden slowly clears of undergrowth. I persevere. My fingers blister; shoulders ache This longest evening of the year. I …<\/p>\n