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Poem

In some circles, I’m like that comedian
Rodney Dangerfield, whose catchphrase
was, “I don’t get no respect.” 
I can’t say scorn doesn’t faze me.
I’ve always been terribly misunderstood  
and misjudged.
Some just made up their stubborn minds
and haven’t budged!
For being persistent and hardy
I’ve been described as a pest.
For not being as pretty as the rest
of my family, I’m called an eyesore.
Sometimes I think I can’t take much more!
Then I think of how I’ve been blessed.
Over time, I’ve been put to the test.
I am prolific, and my roots go deep,
but my youth is brief.
For all of us, time is a thief.
When my yellow “hair” turns white and wispy,
it scatters wildly far and wide, 	
flying in the wind, who is my friend.
To some I’m a symbol of positive feelings,
of hope and healing.
They acknowledge my practicality
and strenuously disagree with my enemies
who call me a—I can’t bear to say it. 
The misnomer they utter is “WEED”! 
There’s another name I much prefer.
I think my cousin Daisy would concur
that I am a FLOWER. 

April 13, 2022
entered in Angela Tune's Lighten the Load Poetry Contest

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