The Flower and the Weed

She, a sweet flower
with petals of blue,
the comeliest color
the Lord might imbue.

The harshest of soil,          
the rockiest ground,
the bleakest of places
was where she was found.

The sun was her friend.
The rain loved her dearly.
The clean air was sweet,
yet her roots fared severely.

But soon sprang a weed,
ugly and gaunt;
yet strong in his roots,
no hard earth could daunt.

With ignoble blossoms,
his miserly blooms,
no insect would come,
for he lacked her perfume.

The flower was bashful,          
the weed growing near,
although she was lonely
‘fore the weed should appear.

The two became friends,
the flower and weed,
loving each other,
each other in need.

But it wasn’t enough
to sate all their needs,
the wants of each other,
this flower, this weed.

So the weed with his roots
and her own sweet cologne,
together they danced,
no longer alone.

The weed broke the soil.
made rock into loam.
The flower called insects,
to the weed’s sorry blooms.

The sun and the rain
nurtured the two,
and lovers together
saw asperity through.