Gather into a pile those weeds
Now limp and brittle and dying or dead.
Torn from the dirt that nourished them at the cost of other
Beautiful, vibrant lives that enrich rather than blindly consume.
Tromp them down so that they may be bundled and placed
In the blue wheelbarrow.
Climb the terraces, pushing this funeral cart ahead of you
Sweat pouring from your face that feels somehow rejuvenating.
Overturn the wheelbarrow and spill these defilers
Into a heap to decompose and finally revive the dirt so that
Beauty may thrive.