Weeds

I understand what mountains the frigid wind is blowing from. All smoke from placid chimneys must billow in directions pre-ordained. Weeds are not candles in the wind, what are they then, you ask, my child, a weed may be a plant of unknown unknoweable and undiscovered virtues. A flower in disguise, an unloved flower? And who would be the one to separate the flowers from the weeds in any garden? And why, my child and all who do believe a garden without weeds, it seems to me is like a House of God without its share of sinners.