Isaiah 5: Crowe Garden Remix

Let me write for my garden a blog concerning my garden. My garden was planted in a very fruitful yard.

I tilled the soil, removed the roots. I covered with plastic and secured with stones.

I planted it with the choicest seeds. From my window I watched for it to grow. I dreamed of fried okra and sauteed squash and zucchini.

It produced.

But in the heat of an Alabama summer and lack of sufficient rain, my garden produced only skinny cucumbers and sickly tomatoes.

And now, O inhabitants of Ragland, and men of St. Clair, judge between me and my garden.

What more could I have done with my garden, that I have not done in it? (aside from watering it regularly)

And now I will tell you what I will do to my garden: I will make it a waste. It shall not be picked or watered, and briers and thorns shall grow up. I will command the water hose that no water come upon it. It will be trampled down under lawn mower and weedeater, and shall be no more.

For my garden is in my back yard. It was my pleasant planting. I looked for vegetables, and behold, worms. I looked for produce, and behold, rottenness.