You fed and begged the Earth to produce a decoration. A deliberate thing, though
Your belief is that nature makes the choice to allow its growth. You talk of infected
Roots, bad unwanted roots, but have you never found a dandelion
Or a daisy on the lawn a beautiful thing
Despite its place, out of your pre-planned section? Mother,
Should you find a flower
Tore off from the shackle of its origin
And caesareaned from its bearing to the ground

Why do you blame it on the wind, the weather, and never feet?