This ever-unloved vagrant we call weed—
Weed only to men that know none her creed,
Who, uninformed are of its hardy breed,
Nor know virtues lost in the wild arid.
I wish man knew well weeds’ virtuous deeds.
Like many amidst us, society’s weeds,
Who condemned, uncared, might never succeed,
But were not all plants once mere weeds indeed?
The weeds may never pricey homes adorn,
But their virtues would never die in vain,
Nor languish like an abandoned new-born,
Nor like pens that die— love’s labour in pain.
For, no weed’s lost battle nor died broke heart,
Hardy heads live in hope of heady start!
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- Sonnets | 03.08.07 |
Aniruddha Pathak
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-wild-called-weed/
