Weeds

With diligence, I clear them all
Or nearly all, as it cannot be truly said
That all are cleared, for many still remain
And though, with diligence, I try to clear
Them all, they all appear again
The next day, and the next
As if I had done no work at all
This spring there seems a difference
To explain seems difficult, but I shall
Try the best I can, in such a manner
With words, you’ll understand
Looking closer, even as I drag them
From the soil of their birth
Depriving them of nurture, and from
The joy of seeing their own fruition
I notice details in their leaves, and
Variance in their stems,
They are as different from each other
As you and I, as sister is from brother
I see their flowers, yes, weeds have
Flowers, some so beautiful, I let them
Live, I let them grow, even though
They may scatter seed to plague me
To punish me when next spring’s sun
Helps raise them from their winter sleep
They are beautiful in yellows, reds and
Blues so delicate are some dressed in
The faintest lace and spray of
Their own elegance so finely dressed
As if attending a royal ball
But yes, there are others, creeping
Maliciously, rooted deep, difficult
To pull away from flowers tended
So jealously, so anxiously, there is
So much more one could say
So much more to learn, to know
But they are weeds
So they must go

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