JUNE 13: A Poor Weed
“Somehow,” said the yarrow weed, “I have been left here and only a little of the hay is left. It has all been cut down to feed to the animals. The animals don’t like to eat me. They say I am so bitter. Ah, poor me, I cannot help it if I am bitter.”
“Do not be so sad,” said Old Hay. “It isn’t so wonderful to be eaten. Aren’t you happier above the earth, having the sun look down upon you and the wind rustle by you, than to be inside a cow or a horse or a sheep?
“The farmer does not like you because you take up the room which might be used by some grass which would be good for his animals.”
“Yes, I’m like an unwelcome visitor, a guest who isn’t welcome.”
“My dear Yarrow,” said Old Hay, “you mustn’t mind it if some creatures don’t like you. There will always be some creatures who don’t like something or some one. It is a waste of time worrying about it.”
“I won’t worry about it any more,” said the yarrow weed, “but I do wish that I didn’t look so ragged and shabby all the time. I am such an ugly gray color. My leaves look old as though I were very poor.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Old Hay, “I no sooner get rid of one worry for you than you think up another. It’s all right to wear old things if you want to. I have heard of people who wear their last year’s clothes so they can do fine things with their money.”
“But I haven’t money,” said the yarrow weed.
“Dear me,” said Old Hay, “please cheer up. Of course you haven’t money. You’re a weed, and as you say, you are a poor and rather unpopular weed.
“But you mustn’t be discouraged, for I’ve heard you were often used as a charm. You are supposed to bring good luck and a long, happy and prosperous life. So some people save a bit of you to keep for luck.”
“Ah, yes,” said the yarrow weed, “even though I am a poor weed I have something to make me very proud and glad.”