I Cultivate the Weeds

My queer life in this queer place,

Is very queer indeed,

I tend to my garden every day,

But I cultivate the weeds.

Scarlet Pimpernel,

Not to touch and not to eat,

My precious weather warner,

My can, their Marguerite.

Orange Hawkweed a-soaring,

Above the grass and shrubs,

Has no affinity with flying Aves,

But rather Fox-and-Cubs.

Yellow dandelions compose,

The vastness of the lawn,

Sending paragliders everywhere,

To germinate their spawn.

The sensuous aroma of Nettles,

A chorus of Insecta zing,

Admirals, Peacocks and Tortoiseshells,

Will never know their sting.

Glorious Myosotis,

Escaped from all their pots,

Remembers your secrets and whispered musings,

Azure Forget Me Nots.

For liver protection and healing,

Spear Thistle’s the cure I choose,

The vengeful leaves, the reason,

I always don my shoes.

For not all weeds are bad,

Or deserve their notoriety,

They are simply misunderstood,

Despised by society.

It’s time to reassess,

The conditioned human mind,

For it’s weeds, bees and butterflies,

Who sustain all of mankind.

So, love the weeds that take up space,

For they are loud and they are here.

Always have been, always will be.

The queerest of the queer.