The Poet Community

The Weed | A Poem by JD DeHart

No one harvests
the neglected weed,
though it sprouts and begs
to be collected.

No one coos or sighs
with satisfaction at its sight
in the window, though it
flowers just the same.

Poisons are given to it,
and it still comes back, it
is pulled up from the roots
and yet finds a way in.

Stacks of it are left, spread,
and threaten to choke out
the blossoms that are prized
by others.


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