We long to roam through
discarded gardens overgrown
with antiquated notions
to pluck the weeds from
the very soil we often
refused to simply toil
Espying the single rose
beneath the creeping vine
asking not what encouraged it
to be simply divine, it just is
Little weeds that head with colour
springing beneath a summer flower
ignored for its parasitic ways
flourishing beneath a distant gaze
growing in a barren wasteland
untouched by a living hand
Unguarded garden in riotous
bloom, little weeds that like
to loom, beneath the heady
fragrance of another day
asking that you not pull them
from the only soil ever known
to them, they grew heart whole
despite you staying away