"A plant's a weed when in the way"
Our wicked world will often say.
You're plucked and pulled and pushed away.
Ode to roadside weeds.
Our wicked world will often say.
You're plucked and pulled and pushed away.
Ode to roadside weeds.
But to grow at asphalt's edge—
A miracle, you humble hedge!
This poem to you's my pers'nal pledge.
Ode to roadside weeds.
I'll sound the bell. I'll heed the call
To tell the world we've dropped the ball;
We've passed the fact you've grown at all.
Ode to roadside weeds.