To a Giant Hogweed

Great, handsome,towering,wondrous weed

’twas I who sowed yon shrivelled seed

Infertile ground.

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

Your progeny.


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.


This entry was posted in Poetry.

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