In the quiet whispers of the morning breeze,
Weeds rise with an undying grace,
Uninvited guests in a bed of blooms,
Yet they dance, swaying in their place.

Beneath the watchful eyes of the sun,
They stretch their roots and claim the earth,
Resilient, stubborn, and free,
They grow in shadows, proving their worth.

Among the roses, they weave their tale,
Of survival, strength, and silent might,
Their green fingers reach for the sky,
In the garden, they are nature’s fight.

So let them be, these humble weeds,
For in their presence, a lesson lies,
Beauty is not just in the bloom,
But in the heart that never dies.