A poem about the virtues of being like a weed rather than a flower.

A husband and wife stood together
looking out at their fenced backyard. “Our
daughter picked one rose after another…
one day she’ll be a delicate flower.”

So spoke her father. The wife then said,
“I hope she is more weed than flower,
since flowers are frail and too soon dead.
They need constant care, lacking power.

“But a weed…weeds are tough and sturdy.
They meet all life’s challenges head-on.
Sidewalk cracks for weeds offer worthy
places to grow, as well as a mown lawn.

“First to burst forth in Spring, last to die
before Winter, persistent year ‘round,
weeds thrive when flowers won’t even try.
Weeds have the strongest will-to-live found.

“I want her to be self-sufficient,
able to deal with life on her own.”
The father agreed, “A competent
woman our daughter must be when grown.

“Let her be less flower and more weed,
tough and strong-willed -- but still with brightly-
colored, pretty blossoms -- to succeed
in life, with her roots grounded tightly.”