From the Sand-Laden Loam

Meretricious in notion,

a weed in meticulous patter --

or so a dynasty of thought has decided.

In essence a martyr,

her spices ever so honed,

a brusque reminder of sacrificed petals

for the sake of fanning roots.

Without nurture she reaches about

from the sand-laden loam,

her beauty derived beyond accepted context.

Well-knowing she is not esteemed,

she still champions the seedless fruition of a greater sense,

recognizing the glory of a buried principle.

From the crest of a sand-washed mound

she extols her overlooked graciousness

before a field of pompous blossom.