Patch Of Weed

I’ll cede at worst a patch of
weed explains the workings
of our minds to me – you
see a garden there that
needs its share of TLC and
fair enough it works quite
well when offered it; but
deep within lurks onion grass
that hasn’t gone away

flowers and shrubs have
been addressed by diligence
at best explained in photos
that suggest you’re right; the
stunning views declare per
chance a scene of classic
elegance to hold the sway;
but deep within lurks runner
grass that bides its time 

in chaste array I see today a
renaissance of plan; Mother
Nature’s chicken weed with
sticky seed has run amok
it dies designed by industry
of making me to strut and
prance its tune in fluency
of knowing we’d have never
had an even chance
© 6 October 2009, I. D. Carswell