Whose weeds these are lives far away;
but I will pull some out today.
She may not know quite what I do,
to halt the bitter, sad decay.
My restless pup is quite content;
forgoes his walk for time well spent.
Upon his back, a grassy rub,
belly up, and wiggle worm bent.
He shakes off the grass, finds a place,
to lie within the sun's embrace.
I'm left alone with wind and weeds,
to do my work with quiet grace.
The weeds are many, long and strong.
But I know here they don't belong,
And I uproot them with a song,
And I uproot them with a song.
This poem is an exercise I sometimes do with my students. Take a published poem and follow the pattern. Anyone recognize the poem I used?
For more poetry spins, head on over to Sprite's Keeper.