My tobacco is satisfactory today, and most of my veggie seeds have germinated in their beds. On returning to the house, via my front yard, I passed my overgrown, 24 year old Mugo Pine. They don't grow upward, but only outward, after reaching about 3 feet in height. (My gravel driveway has a somewhat recent bend added, to avoid scratching my car door on the Mugo.) I heard singing coming from within it. The music sounded familiar, but the lyrics were not quite as I recalled them. Curious, I jotted down what I heard:
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To climb where the rest dare not go
To right the un-rightable wrong
To smirk at complaints from afar
To try when our stems are too weary
To grow an unreachable weed
This is my quest,
To follow the sun
No matter how hopeless,
Although it is fun.
To fight for the light
Without question or pause,
To be willing to march
out of hell for a dastardly cause.
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my seeds will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And our world will be better for this
And one plant, scarred but laden with seed
Still strove with its last ounce of courage
To fight the unbeatable foe
To grow an unreachable weed
[with apologies to Leigh Mitch and Darion Joseph]
Leaning on a trekking pole in one hand, I spent nearly a half-hour pulling up scores of this awful weed, which had managed to hide near the center of the Mugo Pine—far away from mower blades. I tossed the uprooted weeds in every direction. When I was done, and turned to head for my front porch, a cluster of the angry, two and three-foot long weeds tripped me, resulting in a muddy left knee of my jeans.
Bob
