“What a Weed This Is” By Elizabeth Bieberitz
The toilsome labor you here cause
Sunshine and rain beat and pour,
But you, oh how malign you are.
“What a weed this is—”
The human blood you bring forth by your skin,
Cries at how it must go.
The ground has no other choice,
But to let you spread your frivolous roots out.
Your numbers increase just to show your power.
Little do you realize that you can be brought down:
The work you put forth cannot live on forever.
“What a weed this is—”
Do you realize that you will soon wither?
Herbicides choke your existence and yet,
You stand.
Your pitiful stalk throws up its final cry:
Gloved hands pluck out your lifeless core.
Your enemies suck out the nutrients left
But yet, you flow over the horizon.
Causing exhaustion for the weary hand—
The hated intruder faithfully comes back,
So that one may say,
“What a weed this is.”