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by Harry
Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #839101
A poem about collective versus individual merit.
The little flower felt itself unwanted,
ignored, neglected, taken for granted.
“My yellow blossom’s pretty but small.
My stems are leggy. I don’t grow very tall.
No one ever plants me in their garden bed.
My presence near pampered roses they dread.
I must fend for myself, provide for all my needs.
Gardeners disparage me – another of the weeds.”

The sunshine made the day glorious and hot.
A nearby flower, “Quit your whining. We’ve got
it pretty good, for we get to grow free in the wild,
covering fields and highways for many a mile.
Although individually we do not much impress,
together we become Nature’s most gorgeous dress.
You under-appreciate our collective visual powers,
for people travel from afar to view us wildflowers.”

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