Ferns

The ferns are taking over,
Running rampant in the yard.
I yank them by the roots, a job
More tedious than hard.

Each summer they crop up en masse
And quickly multiply,
So you may see me plucking them,
Most likely in July.

I do not hate their lacy fronds,
Which sway when there’s a breeze,
So seeing them some other place
Would really not displease.

But gazing from the screened-in porch,
What I object to most
Is this sea of uninvited guests,
Expecting me to host.