I am but a weed that's grown
Along a path where seed is sown.
Not too refined or cultivated
but nonetheless by God created.
Tho not a rose, the bees still lite
To butterflies, a welcome sight.

The Garden Club does not regard
Me horticulture for their yard.
When fancy friends drop by for tea.
They never save a place for me.
No crystal cut, no fancy vase
For this plain ol country face.

Still look on me without pity
And take a drive out of the city
There you'll find me at my best
Nature's colors nicely dressed.
Sunshine days and morning dew
Are growing a bouquet for you.

09/25/2001