'Twas the Night Before Harvest
'Twas the night before harvest, and all through the room,
The exhaust fans were humming, dispelling the gloom.
The trellis was hung by the pillars with care,
In hopes that the Top-Shelf soon would be there.
The clones were all nestled, tucked in for the night,
While visions of terpenes danced under the light.
With me in my slippers, and the cat in my lap,
I’d just settled down for a post-trimming nap.
When out in the garden there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the grow tent I flew like a flash,
Hoping to God I hadn’t heared a light-crash.
The glow of the LEDs on the lush canopy,
Gave a luster of midday to my favorite tree.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a heavy-set resin, crystal-clear and sincere.
With a master grower, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment—this crop was the pick.
More rapid than hydro, his praises they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name:
"C’mon, Diesel! Now, Haze! Now, Northern Lights!
On, Cookies! On, Kush! Reach for the heights!
To the top of the tent! To the top of the wall!
Now bulk away! Bulk away! Bulk away all!"
As fans like the wild hurricane fly,
They’ll meet at the carbon filter, mounted in the sky;
So up to the rafters the colas they grew,
With a bag full of nutrients, and CO2 too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the floor,
The sound of the reservoir asking for more.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Out from the foliage he came with a bound.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His fingers were sticky!
His task was a labor of love, both fragrant and tricky.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Lollipoping the bottoms; then turned with a jerk.
After laying a finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the humidity rose!
He sprang to his stool, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Happy Harvest to all, and to all a good light!”