Poetry Thursday - Anne Stevenson and John Clare celebrate a humble weed

"thou humble flower" (via)

Ragwort

They won’t let railways alone, those yellow flowers.
They’re that remorseless joy of dereliction
darkest banks exhale like vivid breath
as bricks divide to let them root between.
How every falling place convoys their smile,
taking what’s left and making a song of it.

Anne Stevenson (b.1933)

While looking for a picture of ragwort, I came across another poem about it, by John Clare (1793-1864):

Ragwort thou humble flower with tattered leaves

I love to see thee come and litter gold...

Thy waste of shining blossoms richly shields

The sun tanned sward in splendid hues that burn

So bright and glaring that the very light

Of the rich sunshine doth to paleness turn

And seems but very shadows in thy sight.