Weeding Poem by Ann Lusch

A morning in May,
Not yet hot.
Pull slender shoots,
Some tougher ones, too.
I know, I know,
What did you ever do to me?
Innocently pushing up green
Through soil.
Intending to live.
You think I love your
Flower sisters more?
It's true;
I do.
Make way, maple sprouts!
Clear out, clover!
Sorry, weeds, sorry.

I'm impatient
For my impatiens.

Sit on the earth's
Cool coverlet of grass.
Hear chirpy, cheery birds;
A neighbor's radio, faint.
Smell the air, fresh.
Touch the soil, dry.
Cogitate, speculate,
Contemplate, ponder.
Pluck weeds methodically,
Insistently.
Let the minutes
Leave their legacy,
Fleetingly:
Fingernails dirty,
And a soul serene.