Some Doggerel for National Weed Day

How could this web site possibly ignore  a topic so delicious as "weeds"? This is long enough to be Friday's post, but I'll let it go live now, in honor of the occasion.

What gardeners need most seems to be a clearer way of thinking. The wild plants that sprout in the garden, and threaten to crowd out the vegetables and the pricey imported flowers, are mostly not nuisances after all. There are exceptions, like Bermuda grass, that are neither useful nor ornamental, but most of these volunteer plants are actually what a frugal person wants to eat in spring. 

Keep a few of these around;

No better salve or lotion's found

For bruises, cuts, scrapes, burns of skin;

Eat when the leaves are young and thin.

Though they're growing big and tough,

Leaves are smooth as burs are tough.

If last year's roots went to waste,

Here's a pleasant sour taste.

Once the flowers bloom, the leaves'

Bitterness the palate grieves;

But the sap removes all warts

And roots make a tea of sorts.

Though I've never cared for these,

They delight the Japanese;

Roots they pick, peel thick, and pickle

Lend steamed rice a pleasant tickle.

Dig the roots soon as you can--

Morning's work for a strong young man;

While they thicken sauces, they

Help keep heart attacks away.

None of this plant's fit to eat

Till a berry, yellow, sweet,

Shows where that husk splits and dries;

Berries make quite tasty pies.

Nothing's fit to eat at all

On the milkweed coarse and tall,

But its rather pallid flowers

Will be good for many hours

Of bees, birds, and butterflies,

Always pleasing to the eyes.

Dried and brewed with mints in tea

Boneset stimulates, we see,

And may speed recovery.

Cleavers trails along the ground

Till the stiff hairs that surround

Leaves and stems can cleave unto

Something upright, such as you,

This peculiar sensation

Is not pain, but education,

When the plants are brought inside,

In the chimney corner dried,

They become great flu relievers,

Because cleavers break down fevers.

Tasting this one, some agree

It's best left to please a bee,

Though a kind of mint it be.

But a few leaves do no harm

Anywhere mint flavors charm.

Though the stems and husks so hairy

Make this garden stray look scary,

Once the husks have pulled away

From the berries. people say

They're like raspberries to eat,

Only bigger, and more sweet.

Smilax vines are nuisance plants,

Trip us up or make us dance,

Really make our tempers shine,

Often known as "blaspheme vine"!

Yet, in times of hunger dire,

People have lived on green briar.

All Spanish Needles I detest

More than, together, all the rest

Of weeds shown here. Still, in great need,

One might eat even this ugly weed.

If there's an enemy whose brain

Of all his parts seems least,

And whether he's dead or insane

From him you'd be released,

Then friendship with him you might feign

And serve this at a feast.

(But he will surely spit it out

Unless great powers for it you tout,

And now that people know about it,

Can this trick work again? I doubt it.)

The Algonquins put this to the test

When Englishmen became a pest.

For them we see it did not work.

So jimsonweed from ground we jerk,

And then we burn it, in all haste,

Before poor innocent creatures taste.

Still, nothing's altogether bad

In nature. Some use this stuff's had.

Of all things found in any field

This is the vilest "weed."

Whatever else that field did yield

That he felt such a need

To poison, soon there's ten times more

Of it than there ever was before.

For "bigger fleas have smaller fleas

Upon their backs to bite'm,

And smaller fleas have smaller fleas,

And so ad infinitum,"

And so a balance is maintained

By which all creatures are sustained,

Until this fool who thinks he's wise

God's plan for nature to despise

Creeps in and kills the "smaller fleas"

That check the ones that us displease.

So such a feeble helpless thing

As the corn earworm loss can bring.

And still increases each year's grief

Of those who from loss sought relief

By spraying poisons on the land,

Now not a cornstalk can withstand

The hordes of corn earworms unchecked,

And nothing can the corn protect,

And every ear they pick's defiled

Unless it's been completely spoiled,

And each year's gain is less and less,

And sprays cost more, to their distress,

And soon men take them by the hand,

Lead ruined men from ruined land.

If so you've tried to keep a garden,

First beg God's and your neighbors' pardon,

And then all poison sprays forsake,

And seven years' loss you must take

As nature's toll for poisoned land,

And to some other work set hand.

When land's had seven years of rest,

Then once again you may be blest

With crops or flowers worth the time

To plant them, as before this crime.