Everybody knows "John Barleycorn" Robert Burns, right? Now imagine if the same story praising whiskey was about cannabis? Below you'll find the answer, we've reached a real poet to create this:
* * * * * *
When Mary Jane had come of age,
Those ‘round her began to creep.
They plotted then to break her down
For some parts they would keep.
They looked upon her cautiously
Saw her grow dark in sun.
When sweat did glisten to their eyes
They knew their wait was done.
They waited for the very time
That Mary seemed mature.
They grabbed her in the open field,
Held lightly but made sure.
They checked her well and were convinced
That Mary Jane had grown,
Was strong and sweet and swollen enough
For them to call their own
Before poor Mary Jane could move
They broke off every limb
When that was done, they dragged her down
To a place much more grim.
Those men, they hung her bottom-up,
They left her there for days,
In the dry dark, till she might crack,
Till Mary’s light did fade.
They took her down, they pulled her close,
Took blade from head to shin
To cut whatever blemish clean,
Leave only Mary’s skin.
And from her skin came many things
When boiled and kept as drips,
Or ground up fine, and wrapped up tight,
And lit to someone’s lips.
Some men would use the girl’s remains
To hear some divine word.
Some others still took of her skin
Till awareness gleefully blurred.
Some look upon the men
Who did these things will such despair.
No one should use poor Mary’s body
Those people would declare
But some need Mary’s body
For much more urgent gain;
To calm their addled minds a while
Or free them from their pain.
From Mary’s sacrifice
Some people do regain control
From illnesses stealing bodies
Or addictions claiming souls.
Some say what happened to the girl
Is vicious, inhumane.
But there are lives so surely changed
By the body of Mary Jane.