Dead nettles this year
Invading the lawn
Showing up everywhere
Like troops coming ashore
On Normandy Beach
I know I ought
To make peace with them
After all every last weed
Needs its own place to live
Which is what gives rise
To my present philosophy
And gardening policy
Of benign constraint
If the garden is truly an ark
Then even dead nettles
Should be welcome aboard
At first I admired their tiny imperfect flowers, but as the years went on I realized that they were taking over the yard, and so began my losing battle with dead nettle. Never chemicals, just twisting them around my fingers, on my hands and knees. It became both obsession and zen meditation.
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