Colin F. Jones


Weeds grow among the flowers in the field,
Where they their toxic chain and mace do wield,
Thus we must spray our extermination there,
Among the flowers causing them despair.
Some of the beauteous petals fall and die,
With every weed that cringes there to hide,
For every foot of freedom that we gain,
We suffer in our hearts the bitter shame,
Of losing flowers that have done no wrong,
Yet are caught, among the evil throng.
Tis not to shoot a daffodil that we fire,
But to kill a nettle that it might expire,
And leave the world a place where flowers grow,
Sharing love that all our hearts might know.