Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Poor Little Weed

supplied the illustration


Sad, sad, sad indeed
To be born a lowly weed!
To know, when summer is arriving,
That all your growing, all your striving,
Will just result in hurt and scorn
When you appear upon the lawn!
You've pushed and pushed through rocky soil
With energy and intensive toil;
You've gazed, at last, upon the sun,
Expecting love from everyone.
The interest of passing bees
Tells you you have the power to please,
But humans, when they chance upon you,
Do nothing but stamp crossly on you.
And then they drag you by the root
And simply do not give a hoot.
Gazing at your little neighbour,
The result of equal toil and labour,
She, looking pretty, just like you,
But with her own destruction due,
Makes ones little sad heart bleed.
How very sad to be a weed!

The young may think this photo shows decrepitude and shame.
'To think the old could act like that! What on earth's their game?
Look at his socks! His underpants! How can he look like that!
Why on earth should anyone want to give him a loving pat?
And her! With her grey hair in a bun and slippers on her feet!
You'd think, at their age, they'd have learnt to be a bit discreet!
And look! He's doing the washing-up! Macho? I think not!
Why don't they creep away quietly, admitting they've gone to pot?'
The young may find this ridiculous, looking through youthful eyes,
But these two have won the jackpot, life's very greatest prize.


Evelyn said...

how sad indeed.

Bubba said...

A flower by any other name, Brenda.

Thanks for playing M.M.P.P.!!!

Kathe W. said...

one person's weed is anothers gorgeous blossom. Just like your second poem. I enjoyed both! Cheers!