Is this the land that welcomes all, but where few stop and stay?
The land that’s covered with thick, Black dirt, and where few seeds find their way?
Why, yes, this is the infamous land along the Mississippi River shores
Where many seeds do grow and find their way in this thick, Black, fertile soil
My favorite Black seed, the beautiful Poke, grows along the river’s aisle
It covers itself in Earth’s sacred layers and refuses to be defiled
It lives in this place that’s too oft ignored, but it thrives nonetheless
Poke is a prize for us who know that this seed is beyond blessed
Young Poke is foraged and picked by these hands that know the fullness of the earth
Poke’s acrid smell and sallet leaves don’t determine it’s worth
Picked Poke is triple boiled, holy trinity, and baptized in seasoned waters
It gives new life to us who enjoy the spiritual nourishment Poke offers
Some precious Poke, hands never pick, and it’s stalks becomes a place where birds meet
It's purple berries, royalty, gives hawks and hummingbirds a feast
Some strangers see Poke as a just weed, that needs to be removed
They make the argument, “Poke is bad” but my Poke love is unmoved
Poke perseveres and grows splendidly, a scripture in Earth’s story
Soon all will see and appreciate Poke and it’s magnificent glory
Black poke seeds need that Black, consecrated soil to become what they are to be
A super seed, a mighty plant, ordained by Holy fertilizer indeed.