The Rebel Flower

You see a weed,

a fragile delicate floret,

incapable of ubiquitous versatility

But I have always been tenacious,

malleable,

flourishing deep roots alongside any burgeoning floriculture

perennial,

even when mowed down,

growing willowy even through concrete.

I luminously defy conventional beauty,

even in the midst of the horizons somber veil,

as asters do - always seeking the sun.

I am nourisher

victual fare for butterflies and bees alike,

outturning honey and wine.

I am healer

sowing ancient medicinal wisdom,

a formidable necessity in tinctures and teas

that cleanse the body and soul.

I am a thousand wishes

blown into the auspicious wind

by those who dare to believe,

seeds of dreams running

like Chincoteague ponies on the breeze

wayward, free, bohemian, uninhibited,

multiplying into infinite dreams

established in novel earthen floors.

I am lion,

courageous, fearless, and full of teeth.

I am dandy,

an exquisite, gallant prodigy

How lamentable that all you see

is a weed