WAR, ORGANIC

I deployed my soldiers to the southern field:

Tender greenhorns, 

Lined up – standing at attention.

A humanitarian mission,

To feed the masses.

Little did I know

The perimeter would be breached

By armor-clad invaders.

Mandibles being their weapons,

They declared war –

With their appetites

They descended 

On my hapless garden rows. 

I sought counsel 

From time-worn generals, etched

In battle scars.

Their gravelly orders were clear:

“Bring out the heavy artillery!  Release the nukes!” 

I refuse.

Civilian casualties are not acceptable.

I institute tactics to defend 

Against the enemy while preserving

The fragile population 

Of pollinators. 

Despite my efforts, 

The remaining troops

Are cut down.

Steeling my resolve,

I send for reinforcements:

A contingency of

Hardened soldiers

Who could withstand 

the brutal attacks.

Their vines and spines

Defensive and offensive 

To the war-weary aggressor.

The enemy relents.

The masses will be fed.