Email Poem

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Poem

I am a weed,
Why do you ask me to paint my face and nails?
Do you not see my beauty without the falseness of that view?

I am a weed,
No, not a rose, soft velvet pleasure,
Beautiful until you reach out to touch,
Her siren song lures you to the spiny web.

I am a weed,
Verdant, brilliant in my tenacious ability to survive,
My flower is more subtle, it is not that of the rose.

When in drought, my vibrant presence still endures,
During flood I grasp on to life with strong arms and legs,
My beauty is in my ability to adjust to life,
I hang on in the storm, as I am a weed.

Behold me, I am a weed, 
How can I help you understand me, cherish me as you do the rose?
Look within to see me as 
I grow in strength with each new challenge thrown my way.

I am a weed, I am not a rose,
Many are like me in this world,
Some surviving phenomenal events, 
Clinging to life as we know it, 
The beauty of our spirit lies within.

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