Ferns

The ferns are taking over, Running rampant in the yard. I yank them by the roots, a job More tedious than hard. Each summer they crop up en masse And quickly multiply, So you may see me plucking them, Most likely in July. I do not hate their lacy fronds, Which sway when there’s a breeze, So seeing them some other place Would really not displease. But gazing from the screened-in porch, What I object to most Is this sea of uninvited guests, Expecting me to host.