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 glo