To some the weed is an ugly invader.
To me it is a thing of beauty, determined and single minded,
Tall and proud amongst its colourful, more favoured bedfellows.
Resistive to the attempts of the zealous gardener to destroy it,
Poor relation amongst prize winning blooms.
Its beauty lies not in petals of dazzling rainbow hues,
But in its steadfast determination to fight back, year on year.
The weed is honest and unapologetic for its existence.
It does not await applause from shallow onlookers.
Confident on its journey.
I am the weed, with depths that others cannot see.
I will stand tall when others falter.
Their beauty will fade in time, outer shell that was once their saviour, wilted and dull.
My beauty, like the weed, lies within.