Rating: 3.5

I understand what mountains
the frigid wind is blowing from.
All smoke from placid chimneys
must billow in directions pre-ordained.
Weeds are not candles in the wind,
what are they then, you ask, my child,
a weed may be a plant of unknown
unknoweable and undiscovered virtues.
A flower in disguise, an unloved flower?
And who would be the one to separate
the flowers from the weeds in any garden?
And why, my child and all who do believe
a garden without weeds, it seems to me
is like a House of God without its share of sinners.

Smoky Hoss 08 May 2011

Deep with a metophoric sense of beauty and wonder; this poem really gives me cause to think of meaningful moments. Great poem!

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good meaning behind it...I iked it!

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Allan James Saywell 17 July 2005

yes herbert some human beings can be much like a weed, we have our flowers stinking rogers is one example but i must refrain from that and say this is a good little poem to start the day and short by your standards but excellent Warm regards allan

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Pradeep Dhavakumar 17 July 2005

Excellent Herbert. Liked the meaning. Well written.Thank you.

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