I’m A Weed
I’m a weed, hearty and strong.
Went to school, didn’t belong.
Teachers want us pruned and tamed.
Tried to heed. To sit still aimed.
I’m a weed. My roots grew strong.
Teachers said ‘Doing it wrong!’.
Pushing through, inquisitive.
Weeds, it seems, quite intrusive.
I’m a weed, once a flower.
Over beds, my leaves tower.
In today’s garden, don’t fit in.
Is being different such a sin?
We seem to live in an era where everyone is expected to fit into a mold. Children who do not fit easily into these molds are often wonderful kids. They are like weeds. Wild flowers, they grow strong, even if a bit out of control. These kids are our future. We cannot pluck them out of our schools and toss them in the compost pile. Or worse yet, spray them with poison to keep them under control.
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