Great, handsome,towering,wondrous weed
’twas I who sowed yon shrivelled seed
Now I must do a loathesome deed,
The Council found.
You are an alien, dangerous thing,
Your sap and foiliage worse than sting
Of wasp or bee.
But I shall bide till you will fling
The Council declared war on you
With poisonous, worse than you can brew
Within your veins.
Mere minions fuss with much ado.
My anger flames.
Your parasol so fair and white
Stops many an insect in its flight,
To rest and feed,
Perchance to meet a mate that’s right
To love and breed.
Fecundity’s a mighty power;
For seven years I rued the hour
Your brood did fall.
Compelled to toil with spade and trowel,
I am your thrall.