They said it was just … a weed
Growing in soil where it shouldn’t be
A wayward and imperfect seed
Attaining the height of a grown man’s knee
It was a product of an inferior creed
Without the beauty of a flower
To this patch of earth it knew it must cede
For the Black-Eyed Susan had the power
“Beauty is transparent,” yet this we don’t heed
As we strive to make a world error free
But the eye of the beholder is often one of need
And who can judge what another really sees?
So now the hybrid weed starts to beg, starts to plead
Amongst perfection begins to wilt, begins to cower
“I only ask a tiny patch, oh please, can’t you concede?”
But the look on Susan’s face is rather dour
“I’m sorry my dear fellow, I cannot share my feed
With those who look or those who act unlike me.
I suppose, between the lines one like you will have to read -
The Earth was always set against one like thee.”
Now in the final moments of a foul and ignoble deed
I reflect upon a world I find most sour
With garden gloves and sinews bared I slowly draw a bead
Removing one who longed to lived amongst the flowers
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