Weed Flower

O pretty flower, blossoming by the road,
providing fodder for small rodents' feed,
and shade or cover for some wandering toad,
brightening my eye with joy in my sad need,
filled with your own mysterious natural code,
glorying in life's gifts, giving back your seed,
flourishing unsung yet spied to inspire this ode,
unwelcomed, unappreciated little weed.

O weed, amongst compatriot loathsome pests,
whose goldenrod and ragweed make us sick,
who roadside, noses, lungs and air congests,
whose friends like nettles and sharp thistles prick
or poison ivy hides 'neath pleasing crests,
who sometimes chokes our crops by growing thick
and our neat gardens maddeningly infests,
does not your beauty compensate each trick?

O weeds, that some would nickname wildflowers,
exposed to all the elements outside,
untrained, unpruned, unspoiled by greenhouse powers,
attacked by farflung poisoned herbicide,
rooted and sturdy, drenched with passing showers,
no useless breed yet not of garden pride,
you are like us poor humble human plowers,
unnoticed and part wild yet dignified.

Did God, O unnamed perennial tendril bold,
create your lovely petals by mistake?
Or were you formed to worship Him half-souled
as we were made--to of His Spirit partake?
Can millions of you ravishing to behold
compare one whit with one prayer crumb we make?
How sad to all your beauty manifold
unmindful you are doomed to never wake,
while we mere sinners, threatened and cajoled,
enjoy your view and God's for heaven's sake.

                                   -- by Pete Voelz        1998

(Dedicated to the great horticulturalist, my sweet
sister-in-law Professor Becky McCann)