Vulgarly, among the irises of love, <br />there sprouts an ugly weed. <br /> <br />On humid, stinking summer nights <br />it pushes up its head. <br /> <br />It grasps and chokes the beauty out <br />spewing the entrails forth. <br /> <br />The ground is littered, where it grows, <br />with images of death. <br /> <br />Death skulking on a putrid afternoon <br />through beds of flowers. <br /> <br />The gardener would kill the weed, <br />but this cannot be done. <br /> <br />He hacks and hews with fork and spade <br />to no avail. <br /> <br />His back is broken and his strength <br />is all washed out. <br /> <br />In numberless forms the weed returns <br />to shatter through the earth. <br /> <br />Stay your hand, dear one, do not try <br />to kill the weed. <br /> <br />Remember that for evermore <br />the weed is ours.<br /><br />Rory Hudson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/among-the-irises-of-love/
