Stretched well away, from your solid core centre.
Wrapped around root, every cranny you enter.
Up stem and over bush, in relentless full pursuit.
Clambering over everything, a claustrophobic brute.
Rhizomes are splayed, far and wide you do grab.
Clawing at the soil, unsuspecting seedlings to nab.
Of poison you are, to a gardener’s fair mind.
Treasured bush strangled, light robbed plain blind.
Secateurs are then brought, to which you are chopped.
Cut back to the source, many tears are then mopped.
The harvest gets a breather, but wary it should be.
For soon you’ll gather strength, and back you’ll come with glee.
For every time you are slaughtered, knocked down to the ground.
You lift yourself back up, where more anger abounds.
Enraged that you are, of being bullied again.
Of your right to grow strong, and bring resistance to men.
For in your fair essence, there is this persistence.
Where it is futile to banish you, for high is resilience.
If only we could learn, to love your white bloom.
To bask in your morning glory, and give you more room.
For in the realm of Great Spirit, that of our Eden.
There is a place for us all, to thrive and be feeding.
Keep trying we will, to make our effort reap pay.
To shine if we might, discover joy and to play.
By Simon Blackler
Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020
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