In every crack and empty space between
The valued treasures, polished gems,
With some unrivaled skill they creep
And dig their roots down firmly,
Far too strong for nature's forces
Or the fickle tastes of pathetic men,
The dilettantes who stand with pride alone
In choosing not to eat or feed but "dine"
On meager fare, a minor fraction of
The bounty of the world before their feet.
And thus the battle rages fast towards death,
The dirty warfare claiming innocents
And wreaking havoc over miles and years,
All to shore up and protect the prize
Of thousands and thousands of years of toil
Against the force of these encroaching foes,
Who will not die and barely give their ground
With great resistance and a brief retreat
Until the opposition stops to breathe
And cedes the very lands they seemed to gain.
Though still we fight them, pull them, cut them down
And think the victory is close at hand,
The Weeds know better that the upper hand
Is truly theirs, the end their choice to make,
The strength of numbers and endurance theirs,
While we are shown to be the creeping horde,
The upstart interlopers self-deceived
Into believing that the land we claimed
Will one day do our bidding and be tamed
Instead of crushing us like noxious weeds.