Weeds grow happily
unaware that they are lowly,
While posh flowers in their masses
Bow their heads appearing holy.

My eyes just see beauty
They never seem to care,
If the beauty comes from weed or flower
The pleasure is still there.

The flowers in the wild
somehow don`t have the same appeal
As those we have to care for
To place upon our window sill.

Now, I`m guessing but I feel
A dozen buttercups in a bunch
Won`t make the same Impact as roses,
Or is that just my hunch? .