Poetry by Fitz

My greenhouse grows weeds, what does yours do?
Do you grow flowers with petals bright? Trees that tower and twist?
I much prefer my weeds.
A burrowing desire; they long for more
They want to spread and survive beneath the floor
Of the earth.

What more could a plant ask for?

Your flowers bloom and my weeds consume
With a lineage of offspring hand in hand.
Yours grow into beautiful trees but my weeds do not need
beauty
to have purpose
They simply are
and
they simply do.
A truth. Their truth. They know it to be true
Plants are nothing without weeds to share their fruits.