If flowers grew like weeds do,

I’d break my relationship with my hoe.

And each and every Friday,

To the greenhouse I would go.

The honeysuckle and the poison oak,

would be remembered now as history.

The chickweed and the dandelion

would remain an unsolved mystery.

I would line my walk with pansies,

Have acres of hyacinths and daffodils.

And every time I saw a catalog,

I’d feel a sudden thrill.

Yes, if flowers grew like weeds do,

I would plant bushels of seed,

And never would my garden be ruined,

By the presence of a nasty weed!

The goldenrod and crabgrass

would be a thing of the past.

Picture perfect beauty would finally

Be there within my grasp.

Spray bottles, gloves and knee pads,

would remain in all the stores.

And the knees of all my jeans,

Would be neither ragged, stained nor wore.

But if flowers grew like weeds do,

Where would be my reward?

Would communing with Mother Nature

Become too easy, useless or bored.

Would my gloves, wheelbarrow and hoe,

Pine silently away for me?

And what do you suppose would happen,

to the bird, butterfly and bee?

After all who am I to say,

A morning glory is just a weed?

For it like all the others

began with just a seed?

Perhaps they were invented because,

The good Lord above, He knew,

I wouldn’t spend enough time on my knees,

If Flowers grew like weeds do!