hedge row

i worked among the ancient hedge row,
stoic and wild,
some limbs vigerous and strong,
others dead men standing in the resolute positions they expired in,
i cut and pulled,
most gave way with no struggle,
others fought back and even sctatched at my face,
slapping and gouging in a reactive endevour to remain,
i felt like God,
as i wrestled a particularly hardy barbarian,
i named him Jacob
and he would not go easily,
i cut him,
even though he was fresh and green,
knowing it was not a mortal wound,
but a sympathetic bruise,
that would help him grow
in another direction,
tis such a cruel job of death to see the green bud come,
and though the tools be simple,
they are sharp enough
to cut to the quick of the human condition