WEEDS

a favorite chore that i used to do.

Outside my window I see the weeds,
growing among my flowers.

The dew has left glistening beads,
like diamonds in the sun.

Gently waving in the soft breeze,
mocking me as they grow.

In my life I have taken care of needs,
gardens, flowers, and such.

I used to crawl about on my knees,
the warm dirt a comfort.

Watching then as the work proceeds,
filled me with satisfaction.

Now the thoughts of the past recedes,
I sigh, a sickly wheezing sound.

My life has become oxygen, and fatique,
trailing hoses about the house.

Flowers and weeds, and their needs,
now have all become one.