Weeds

I admire their profound persistence,
insisting, if you will,
on what they are.

Here I am, they say,
give me water and soil, all I need,
but expect no thanks.

Weeds gamble like sparrows on life,
in their greed drive roots
through asphalt and sometimes cement
without drill or noise.

You'd think sometimes they'd relent,
ask for help.  Not them.
Their pride is their own independence.

We are not like them.

They flower with bootless abandon,
spread seed like news
among those unable to read

and like sparrows, too,
thrive best
where the righteous are few.

Weeds do not repent.