Little Weed


The little weed was struggling,

To be the very first.

He broke the crust and reached,

The sun then quenched his thirst.


He knew in time that others,

Would join him on his quest.

To greet the spring with honour ,

Then his goal was blessed.


He also knew that life,

Was shortened for his kind.

All the joy that he could bring,

The humans would decline.


But for a moment he was here,

The sun had touched his heart.

All the bliss he had inside,

At last he could impart.




This poem was inspired by Lucy and Twiggy over at

30 thoughts on “Little Weed

  1. Mark Lanesbury

    It won’t stop raining over here Pam, it has kept our hot weather down to a lovely constant 25C. Only in Australia, and as a line in Dorothea Mackellar’s poem My Country goes…’Of drought and flooding rains’. It is either a full blown drought for ten years then 3 of pouring rain. Mind you, not complaining. Didn’t God say toil for 3 years then let your fields rest for 1 year. We don’t know how to stop these days so I think we are getting its outcome.
    I had heard on the news that Mexico is even getting snow, and somewhere else got -45 degrees. Is that for real, your toes would drop off if you ventured outside. And you wouldn’t dare hang your washing outside, it would snap if you folded it 😀 ❤️ 🙏🏽 🦋 😂 🤣

    Liked by 1 person


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