The innocent. . .
You pluck that little,
by some deemed beautiful,
but in-your-face,
takes-up-your-eyes,
and shrinks your space,
innocent looking,
cropped up weed. . .
cruel though it be,
a wonder,
the space freed in thee,
and legion happy progeny
to come,
made possible by that one seed.
The Danforth Anchor 