To Plant or Not to Plant a parody in iambic pentameter by Sarah Schenker

To plant seedlings, or not to plant seedlings,

That is the question, often I ponder.

Whether ‘tis saner in the mind to suffer

A summer’s worth of Murphy’s Law and pain,

Or to pack thy tent and to a cubicle,

For to spend those warm and primal months of life

Safe from slash and sweat and tendonitis,

From spruce rash and The Claw and yellow flagger.

Surely we have all dreamed of dropping bag

And hurling shovel, a perfect triple arc,

Thunking neatly into the nearest stump,

And walking triumphantly off the block?

Aye, such a dream must heavy each planter’s heart

From time to time, and yet, dare we to act,

To shrug off the burden of endurance

And the spurns driven deeper into our backs

By over-zealous, self-righteous checkers?

Indeed, why withstand us the hordes of horse flies

Thicker than the hide God giveth to a moose,

Logged slopes more treach’rous than the Gates of Hell

With their hidden pitfalls, a thousand feet

Down, to land amidst ravenous cougars,

When we might, by the virtue of our own two feet

Liberate us from the Almighty Block?

Ah, but who among us hath crossed over,

Dropped DEET and run for civilization,

And returned to tell of what evils await?

It seems we would rather an evil known

Than one that looms essentially formless.

The weight of one’s bank account after all

The boxes are in the ground, weighs rather

Pleasantly in the aching, tired mind.

Thus we are shown slightly irresolute

In our choice, the lesser of two evils,

We are frozen not particularly

Desiring either of these demons be,

Yet planting seedlings in out active doubt.