(with apologies to Dr. Seuss)
When I was much younger and without a clue,
I bought a big house with a big backyard, too.
I gazed at the plants and the flowers and bees,
And said “Look over there! It’s a Mulberry Tree!”
How lovely the shade a Mulberry makes.
Berries galore! All the pies that I’d bake!
I’d hang colored lights in the twigs oh so tall –
Such thoughts fill your head when you buy in the fall.
But then comes the spring and the branches are full,
Of the tiny green berries that soon will be mull.
And you stare at the many and think “Surely not!”
There can’t be — it couldn’t! — but it sure seems alot!
And, finally, summer, and the fruit overhead,
Gets heavy and turns a dark ominous red.
And before you can say “Happy Fourth of July!”
Their stems all let go and they plunge from the sky.
In bunches! In torrents! In great globs they fall!
‘Till you can’t see the ground or the grass not at all.
And you wonder if Prince wrote the song “Purple Rain”,
When he witnessed his deck become one big red stain .
Then the dog goes outside and they get tween her toes,
In her fur! In her paws! On her head! In her nose!
And so back in the house, she goes in a sprint,
Leaving a trail of maroon doggie prints.
And the birdies all come here to snack and to pick,
‘Till the yard looks like some kind of Alfred H. flick.
And they screech and they poop and they make such a mess
That you wish they’d go find someone else’s address.
So you get out the hose and you wash off the sauce,
And you say to yourself “Guess I showed them who’s boss!”
As you settle back into your deck chair to snooze,
And they pelt you, you see they are laughing at you!
“It’s a war you can’t win!” they all seem to say,
As they merrily bounce both this and that way.
“We’re with you till August and longer!” they tease,
“And nothing you do can get us to leave!”
And the sad thing is that you sure know they are right,
As they land with a thud both by day and by night.
You’ve tried pruning and cutting and various sprays
That would kill buffalo but not a berry was fazed.
And to think that I wanted a Mulberry Tree!
Long ‘for I knew it would just bring debris.
But I won’t let them win! I’ll lay down the law!
My next major purchase will be a chainsaw!
I may not have shade. I may broil in the sun.
But I have to admit just the thought of it’s fun!
All those quivering berries as I cut down that tree,
It’s the last time that fruit will be laughing at me!
The Blind Woodchuck does not enjoy being hijacked by some wannabe poet, and would like to emphasize that she quite enjoys mulberries; especially the ones that are so ripe that they explode when they hit the ground! The juice has a wide spatter range that attracts bees, and the bees give it an extra crunch when you pop it in your mouth. Yum!
theblindwoodchuck.com 