The Weeds

by John Vance Cheney

John Vance Cheney

Men scorn them, but the wiser day

Looks never from the weeds away.

They honor him as best they may,

And so their humble summer goes.

Sometimes I think the soft winds stay

With them the longest, in their play,

And all the sweet things to them say

They but say over to the rose.

Last updated January 14, 2019