Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.
It lasts all through September.
Not to mention enchanting flowers, that reflect a purple tinge, and help to declare the ripeness of the year.
Then there are the forsaken dandelions, waving to those who will never come.
Unrequited desires fuelled by insubstantial dreams.
Yet they are pulchritudinous to me-
just as beautiful as the sacred roses fervidly kissing the decaying fence.
Weeds are flowers too once you get to know them.
Perhaps I have more sympathy for them because they are despised by the farmer, and occupy sterile, neglected soil.
Dandelions touch places daisies refuse to look at and grow along sidewalks petunias dare not travel upon.
They breathe and blossom alongside blades of lonely grasses until they are deemed lusus naturae and exterminated by those who are threatened by nature’s mosaic.
Her innocent, rosy cheeks should aspire to be as strong and resilient as the weeds who refuse to bow down to the towering sunflowers.
Little girl, you should know that beauty comes after the thistles of thick rose bushes and needles of prickling sacrifice.
The exquisite perennials you strive to embody are no match for the dandelion’s determination.
You can choose to see a field of a thousand weeds or a thousand wishes.