Poem & Photography by Sherrie Robins
When is a weed, a weed?
When did it fall from grace?
It’s beauty diminished in our eyes,
Unwanted and out of place.
What are the naysayers saying?
Who has given them right?
To judge wildflowers unjustly,
To call them ne’er but a blight.
Surely, there’s bad weeds in the garden,
But it’s not always so easy to say,
Directing one’s judgments correctly,
Knowing which way’s the right way.
For beauty can be found in odd places,
Overlooked by the mere human eye,
Joy waiting just there to surprise you,
Unexpected, but revealed, by and by.
For some have come up from hard places,
Dark corners, reaching out for the sun.
They’ve reached as far as they could grow,
Without help from anyone.
Still, others have grown up together,
Just trying to do their fair best,
There are those tattered and torn in their beauty,
Needing our help, and a rest.
Not all flowers are nurtured,
Clipped, snipped, watered and fed,
But sometimes a weed is a flower,
To be treasured and noticed, when led…
(Photos taken along a walk to the Niagara Gorge, with the exception of the daisies, which are in the Berkshire Mountains, and the orchids, taken at the Buffalo Botanical Gardens.)