To weed…

(the following is a complete rip-off, mostly credit W. Shakespeare)

…Or not to weed?

Whether ’tis nobler in the yard to struggle

Or relax on one’s weekend in a lesser fashion?

Or to take arms against a sea of invasives

And by opposing end them; they die or I sleep?

No more; I sleep and do not watch their end

The heart-ache of weeds is none to that

Which lack of rest shall impose on my being;

That flesh is Heir to?

There, I cannot tarry longer…

Rest is ordained, and so here shall I rest.

(Wilst thou continue? I prithee…)



3 thoughts on “To weed…

  1. The undiscover’d furrow from whose bourn
    No gardener returns, puzzles the will
    And makes us rather bear those lettuces we have
    Than fly to others that we know not of

  2. And yet, where lettuce is not…
    The Calamity of life shall impose
    Of what is least known
    What next when weeding is begun
    The insolence of slugs
    Then overtake
    And this battle never won,
    Upon which soil
    I should never tread
    That which, without trowel
    I might dread

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