Some folk seem to segregate
By color, race and creed
And if we were flowers in a garden
They would dare to call them weeds
Because they do not fit the scope
Their narrow eye beholds
Never mind that God’s true hope
Is for the young and old…
…the rich and poor
The black and white
And all shades in between
We are precious in His sight
And no one is a weed
Some folk seem to think that status
Makes one more or less
And maybe even paves the way
To things like happiness
Some folk seem to think perhaps
They are above another
And would not dream to call everyone
Their sister or their brother
But God’s earth is over-flowing
With hope and love and need
And in His precious garden
Nobody is a weed…
Janet~
Emily picked these 'weeds' on her walk last night.
Love this poem... seems to go hand-in-hand with my post about Queen Anne's lace. Beautiful
ReplyDeleteMegan, it does relate, doesn't it? I've often wondered who decided which get to be 'accepted' as flowers, while other beauties must remain 'weeds':)
ReplyDelete