DEAR ABBY: In a letter you printed signed, "Watching My Garden Grow in Tulsa," the writer made clear the point that one person's weed is another's flower. That column inspired me to write a poem. I hope you like it. -- MARY G. SKELTON, LYNN HAVEN, FLA.
DEAR MARY: Like it? I love it! And I know my readers will, too. It is beautiful.
WEEDS -- THE BEAUTIES OF MY GARDEN
Weeds, to some, are like memories long past,
Needing to be plucked of the shadows they cast --
But I see their beauty, for God placed them there,
So that's where I leave them and tend to their care.
Their roots, growing deeply, hold fast and true,
As my faith, my love and my hope must do --
To garner my strength for another day,
To weather life's storms that come my way.
Where I see a flower and you see a weed,
Its presence and purpose fulfills my need --
To do what I can to manage the earth,
In my small garden, regardless of worth.
As I nurture my weeds and watch them grow,
There's something I've often wanted to know:
Could the loveliest rose, cursed with its thorn,
Be simply a weed -- imperfectly born?