The Ways of Weeds

In youth the lies and truths were just weeds along the way,
to twiddle in our teeth, or count love's instant fate,
and even when we wore them in a chain around our neck,
they hardly touched us, and in the morn, we'd toss away
the withered wreath and wash away the rash.

Many clumsy summers tumble bumbling by
before discerning burrs decline us as a ride, and
dandelions hide before we whisper them away;
When weeds grow low, the fairies fleeting, and truths
and lies loose all their pretty petals.

At youth's bridge of bone and moss, there is a wily troll
that only lets the friends of fairies safely cross, all others
he deflowers and discards into the world. But those few
friends, may take this bridge from either end, and
find again the path and ways of weeds.