I have raked the soil and planted the seeds
Now I join the army that fights the weeds.
For me no flashing saber and sword,
To battle the swiftly marching horde;
With a valiant heart I fight the foe,
My only weapon a trusty hoe.
No martial music to swing me along,
I march to the robin redbreast song,
No stirring anthem of bugle and drum,
But the cricket's chirp and the honeybee's hum.
No anti-aircraft or siren yell,
But there's trumpet creeper and lily-bell.
With a loving heart and a sturdy hand,
I defend the borders of flower land;
While high over Larkspur and Leopardsbane,
A butterfly pilots his tiny plane.
But I shall not fear his skillful hand
My enemy charges only by land.
Would those who lead nations in war and hate
But lay down their guns at some garden gate,
There bury their bombs and their deadly deeds
And join the grand army that's fighting the weeds.
Alma B Eymann
Blessings from The Holler
The Canned Quilter