I know, I should trim the creek bed weeds
and pull them also from the garden beds,
then as well along the path’s edge,
between stepping stones.  Most anywhere
a weed could grow, it seems I have it
here, verdant and defiant, prolific in
its constancy.  As many times
I pluck, again it rustles up above
the earth, as to remind me I must
reconsider worth and work.
Much better to just to dip
my toes, listen, read,
though I should trim
the creek bed weeds,
I’d rather root into this poetry.