Beyond the edge where no one digs or hoes,
There grows a patch of scruffy tangled weeds
Where redroot bristles, feral carrot blows,
And prickly lettuce spangles fluffy seeds;
A pointy insect guards a mottled leaf,
And spiders drape their tatting everywhere;
A feline thistle shows its claws and teeth,
And mullein masquerades as something rare.
This place is just a white space on the map
Beyond the fat well-tended garden beds,
And no one ever tries to make a path
Through all these knotted vines and scratchy heads;
But it’s a place where butterflies are seen,
And mornings, it wears diamonds like a queen.