Choked by the Weeds

The crops never thrive in untendered fields

Neither the millet nor the cowpea

Can stand the wild tares

Nor the parched nor the cloggy field. 

But even on God's loamy earth, 

Much must be spent to make 

The maize and the sorghum bloom. 

Much must be given, 

For much to be harvested;

All have to be weeded and seeded

Some have to be watched and watered

And many others mulched and manured, 

Least they wither and die. 

There is no joy for the sluggard. 

It is a world of labour

From farm to fork. 

Could it be we weren't planted deep enough, 

Or we neglected to nurture the shoot? 

What might have been a bumper field

Is become a parched land

For nothing untendered can prosper. 

Yet we sowed wildly and sparingly:

And some seeds fell among the rocks

And died unappreciated and unpraised. 

Many more fell among the thorns

And were pierced with divergent cares. 

Still others by the road side fell

And the mouths that eat salt and pepper 

Have devoured those;

Spreading their poo across the globe. 

But even those that fell on the good soil

We have left untendered

And the young tendrils are perished 

Choked by the weeds. 

Yet the maize is not choked by the weeds

But by the negligence of the farmer. 

Love, like maize, must be tendered

To yield a harvest worthwhile.