Highways and Hedges

In green country, Alfalfa sprouts

In the ditch, along the highway.

Bales and bales of the fluffy vetch

Wishing vainly to be mown.

Brown eyed, the Susan’s

Greet summer’s bright sunshine,

While trumpet vines bulge,

Begging to be blown.

They long to sound the signal out

To every able warrior:

“Are you willing to wage fierce battle now

Against the summer’s heat?”

They long to bugle out the announcement

Of the fiery new queen’s coronation,

Elbowing ambitiously to be noticed

For their prowess and their feats.

Fertile the fields where

The weather settles sultry,

Even the low places are

Graced by certain allure.

Nature crowns lovers

With sweat’s beaded glory,

Triumph to those willing to stoop and to mate,

To strive and swim against the stream,

To heal the passionate natural urges,

And war, kicking and squirming,

Against arranged culture.

Yes, these will dominate

The highways and hedges.

Creep! Under the fence and across the parallel,

Orderly rows.

Creep without artifice!

Out-do the weaker genetics:

The eunuched hybrids,

Prone to diseases,

The store-bought ilk which

The farmer sows!

But you are a king, and your kingdom fertile.

You! Patience will bear you long,

Til the lavender tops of the

Wild alfalfas

Reach the trumpets,

To teach them your song.

-jenn long