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Clearing Weedsby Nancy ClarkBefore my house, cut squares and laid them in Diagonal design. Years hence his work Was met at either end by poured cement. All up and down the block were swept-clean walks, But mine grew weeds that wanted up and out, To smother and reclaim the ground for green. My childhood pride in place could not abide The look, unkempt, not like the way we lived. So I abandoned play and books and mates From time to time, my chosen work to tear Each weed up by its root, no care for time, Just purpose bound. I knelt and tugged and dug My fingers in the dirt to pinch and pull And pile the unfit weeds. A patch complete, I swept it hard, and pleased with progress, thus, I bent again and on, til dusk and stinging fingers Told me halt. My bricks, well-groomed, lay freed. The weeds, I knew, would surge, offend again. And I would bend to clear the way once more. Today I still may feel the need to wrench Some taunting, flourishing weeds that hold their ground Where purpose likes them not. But I refrain, For these worn hands and unabundant time Arrest my reach and say, "Make choice of weeds." |
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