Poor, homely, unloved things beside the way, <br />That strive in voiceless ignominy, still <br />Undaunted though downtrodden, to fulfill <br />Your appointed purpose! Patient the long day <br />Ye take the buffetings of scornful clay, <br />Sustained by that small portion of God's dew <br />Which thick-strewn dust permits to fall on you. <br />And live where finer herbs must wilt away. <br />Have ye too, dreams of better things to be? <br />Of worlds in which the crooked shall be straight, <br />Where all that are in bondage shall be free, <br />And lifted up all those of low estate? <br />Where, to the thought that knows the potent seeds, <br />Weeds shall be e'en as flowers, flowers as weeds.<br /><br />William Herbert Carruth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weeds-6/
