To a weed:
I've seen some breath-taking flowers in my time; with soft petals vivid in sunny yellow or rich red. I've known flowers who made their presence known throughout a house, their fragrance bursting forth in commanding presence.

 But you?.......you're different, there's not much noteworthy about you.

  

In fact I've never taken much notice of you. Oh sure, I've grumbled when I walk into my yard and you've sprouted your unattractive head in my grass again.  I bend down and pull only to find you fight back, your roots firmly gripping the soil underneath. Honestly your stubborn presence can't help but be noticed.
 

 I saw you just this weekend underneath a picnic table.  You had found your way through the cool hard concrete, though the passageway was narrow. I know the journey through that crevice mustn't have been easy, but there you stood.
 

 You didn't speak to me through familiar beauty like flowers do. You were rather silent.  But I sensed your strength.
  You're not an object of desire to most and you're not known to serve some great purpose as does a rose.
   You do little more than point yourself to the one who created you.
  I think that's noble. Maybe you don't have a choice.  Maybe the fact that you don't have a choice is the reason you're so strong.
  Some days I don't feel pretty or purposeful.  You don't seem concerned with those things. Aside from what I have to offer, I forget that there's any other reason to stand, another reason to be.

 Any day before this weekend, before I'd gotten the chance to know you, I'd tell that you given the choice I'd rather be a flower than a weed.  But now I know that's not always so. Though thankful to be created with purpose and beauty, I'll take those days where I'm simply clothed in strength.

I'll be a weed.