WEEDS

Thomas Gray wrote in "An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" that:

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

Perhaps this could be said about weeds, also. As I walk along the Riverwalk each day, I see glimpses of purple and blue and white and yellow and a multitude of other colors that come from either wildflowers or weeds. Often the weed's beauty is never seen; sometimes, as it happens, Sadie's paw steps on a weed before I get a chance to photograph it, and no one gets to see its beauty.

With springtime comes pollen, weeds and poetry. Here is a poem called, "Weeds" which I wrote this afternoon.

WEEDS

MY NEIGHBOR’S YARD IS GREEN WITHOUT THE WEEDS
THAT GROW AND CHOKE WHAT LITTLE GRASS I HAVE;
EACH SPRING MY YARD GETS SALTED WITH GRASS SEED;
YET EVEN THIS CANNOT MY WEED-YARD SAVE.

“SO WHAT TO DO?” I ASK MYSELF EACH SPRING;
I SEE THE ADS WITH CHEMICALS THAT WORK
TO FERTILIZE THE SOIL AND KILL MOST THINGS
THAT CHOKE MY GRASS INCLUDING WEEDS THAT LURK.

“THE CHEMICALS MAY HURT THE DOG,” I SAY;
OR, “MAYBE WILL NOT WORK THE WAY I HOPE”;
I KNOW THAT THESE ARE REASONS SO I MAY
PUT OFF THE WORK AND LAZE AROUND AND MOPE.

ALAS, NOT DOWN THE WORRY PATH I GO;
THE WEEDS ARE SUBJECTS NOW OF MY PHOTOS.

It was another beautiful morning on the Riverwalk, and the weeds help make it more interesting.