What’s Wrong with Weeds?

What’s wrong with weeds? They grow from seeds

​Like other plants They like the sun

​And having fun By bugging ants

​I gave my brother, Bill, a treat And let him have a weed to eat

​My mother got real mad “Hey, Mom,” I said, “don’t be so rough;

​If cows can eat the stuff, How can it be so bad?”

​“Those are special weeds,” she said. I don’t know what’s inside her head,

​To say a thing like that. Like in the summer all the reasons she’s got

​When the air outside is blazing hot To make me wear a hat.

​When I feel the need, I talk with a weed

​In the corner by the fence It’s smarter than my brother

​And quieter than my mother And it makes a lot more sense.

​But it has to hide behind Potato peels and orange rind

​That’s all piled up with grass. And when the pile has really gotten

​Really stinky and really rotten, A great big smelly mass

​Enough to make your nostrils harden, They put it on the vegetable garden

​Now that’s what I call class. ​

So when they offer me a carrot I screw up my nose like a sort of parrot

And say I do not need A veggie of any kind or style

That grew inside that yukky pile I’d rather eat a weed.

​Not the one that is my friend I’d never wish on him to end

​His lifetime as my lunch I’d ask for his suggestion

​Of a weed for my digestion And that’s the one I’d munch.


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