The Tare's blightful Fate

I shudder, "It's a hoe," they say;
Exterminate those such as I,
Whose fate to be displaced, no way!
Spare the rejected plant, I sigh.

The seed, blown blithely on spring's breeze
Found the garden row by chance,
Put down firm roots, rose up with ease,
Will hoe end the upward dance?

Should carrot, broccoli, or flower
Have preeminence?
I grow inches by the hour,
Disregarding row or fence.

I slipped in among the garden plants;
My leaves, in fact, were prettier.
In sunlight warm their hue enhanced,
My roots grew down, tough, grittier.

Now, time comes to identify;
I've overrun with greed,
Smothered flowers, a rowdy guy.
I admit, "Ha! I'm a weed."

So, I now shudder at the hoe,
Brashness gone, I am exposed.
With your efforts, I'll let go,
Give way to bean and rose.