The Rite of Existence

They were not invited into my
orderly, tidy garden. Just suddenly
appeared. As though their immature
status conferred innocence of intent.
Right, no intention to invade, to 
venture where they were not expected. 
As though the fact their parents
had been escorted into the garden
gave them free reign to romp there,
entitled. Their stealth appearance
no longer surprises. I've grown long
accustomed to the arrogance of
certain species and their sleazy, fecund
habit of sloughing off shoots to
infiltrate the garden beds where the
fastidious gardener has not planned
their presence. That's you I'm speaking
of, Columbine, Bleeding Heart,
violets, Ladies Mantle, Mountain
Bluet; lovely undisciplined invaders!