Distempered Presumption

It may very well be so that a weed
is but a plant whose virtues are yet
to be discovered. And it is true that
I will allow wildflowers which deign
to honour my garden with their
appearance, presence in my garden as
honoured guests, but they earn their
keep in the shy beauty of their blossoms.
It is the sheer unadulterated impertinence
of those other, utterly drab and truly
weedy, that affront me, their obtuse
stubbornness, presumption and
unwillingness to decipher the
time-honoured code of the pampered,
treasured garden; those unwanted,
unappreciated visitors whose calling
card is denied, yanked summarily
and tossed into the compost heap, need
not return. That emphatic message, so
routinely spurned by true weeds whose
pedestrian lack of blossoms and colour
inspire me to gardener's rage, express
the distemper of the ordered garden.