I like the lycianthes there, although I know they’re weeds
I like their pleasant purple hues, and watercolor leaves.

The Daffodils were simple things; yellow, later white,
Little puffs of breeze-borne smoke, ethereal at night.

The wild briers stabbed at me, as I walked out that day,
And yet they were the first to bring the green into the gray

I like the weeds, though others don’t, I realized it just now.
And to think I only realized it under an arbor’s bough.