A Wild Called Weed

What we call weed, a seldom loved vagrant— Weed only to men knowing none her creed, Uninformed of this hardy breed, unbent, Its virtue lost in wild woody arid. We that have amidst us society's weeds, Condemned, uncared, that might never succeed, I wish we knew well weeds' virtuous deeds. Ere known, were not they all weed-like indeed? Weeds that may never pricey homes adorn, Their virtues still would never die in vain, Nor languish like abandoned newly born, Nor like love's labour die a desert rain. Weeds need lose battle, nor die broken heart, Hardy heads live in hopes of heady start. __________________________________________________ Sonnets | 02.08.07 |