while I staggered hot and weary,
ending up my daily chores.
I came upon a redbud stout,
with dying leaves and stems about,
and branches on the garden floor.
The wind had capped it, neatly snapped it,
When? I'll never know for sure.
But less than I could not go by
and leave this at my backyard door.
I could not leave this mess to clutter,
but was loudly heard to mutter,
"Help me Lord, don't test me more."
So up the tree went tools and me,
I climbed the trunk and scraped my knee
I sawed till I was dearly sore.
The dead branch I removed forthwith,
The blighted look is now a myth,
And dead leaves I saw nevermore.
I heard the tree cry "Nevermore!"
(For those who prefer their explanations in more clear language than my feeble attempts at Poe-ish poetry, I was dead tired last Sunday, when I noticed that a branch had been broken off Mrs. ProfessorRoush's favorite redbud. Even for a dehydrated, overheated gardener, the dead leaves were a dead giveaway. So, knowing that Mrs. ProfessorRoush would be highly displeased if I failed to trim the damage on her favorite tree, I climbed and handsawed off the broken spire, which happened to be the growth leader of the tree. Darned fickle Kansas winds!)
P.S. As you can see from the sky in the top picture, it may have been beastly hot, but it was otherwise a gorgeous Kansas day!