Wild Beauty.

I am but a common weed,
  you pass me in the street.
But if you stop to look at me,
  beauteous flowers at your feet.

I creep through cracks in concrete,
  you walk past without a glance.
But think of how hard I had to try,
  and give me a second chance.

I may be a common sight to you,
  a dandelion or daisy.
But in less temperate places,
  I would drive people crazy.

I'm tough, and I will survive,
  come heat, or cold, or flood.
And still produce delicate flowers,
  from my every bud.

My beauty understated,
  by gardeners abhored.
But beauty, in beholder's eyes,
  come to each, adored.