The weeds
Like fibroid
they grow,
I count one,
two, three,
They are the weeds, by
the green
grass,upfronting
the blue sky
,merging
with the bunch of
grass,
taking care of
selves
by the soil, the mound,
rather sharing,
rightfully
all the benefits,
bonus,
that
Nature’s bounty bestows.
Very
difficult to identify
The nature of
weeds, for
Their
colour is such,
Similar we
cannot distinguish
The good from
the bad
Of humans
that easily,
Yet the
wind blows
The same, salient on all.
From afar, my
pages fritter,
Book mark flies
near the bunch,
Why it cares?
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