Ode to Weeds

Weed,

unwarranted, unwanted, unwelcome.

Flower,

dainty, delicate, delightful.

A dandy dandelion plucked with hope.

In a sky of yellow

a single grey cloud

full of magic and wishes

grants you passage to guileless goodness.

Below, a sea of green clover awaits.

Fingers search the rippling waves,

eyes scanning, appreciating, wanting.

The four hands of a scarce specimen reach up,

they grab your attention with their rarity.

Another wish granted.

Without promise of a wish,

would we protect our botanical genies?

If all undesirable flora contained magic,

would we hold them more gently?