This is my first attempt at a sestina and I hope I succeeded. The weeds are a metaphor for humans.
ROSE GARDEN
Morning in another world. I, the Queen
Reside in my garden. I grow my Roses,
Just me and the care I give. All of my love
Devoted to my children. I, alone and fragile,
am admired by many. Beyond me, the weeds
Grow closer, but fall to those who shear.
They are my many servants. They shear
The unwanted braches. To their Queen,
Blooming flowers will go. They trim the weeds
From the landscape. They will protect the Roses
And their Mother. They know I am fragile
And will defend me and that to which I give love.
More than anything else, the Roses earn my love.
I protect them with my life and I will shear
Any trespassers. I am truly fragile
But beautiful, like a butterfly. So I, the Queen,
Call on my subjects. "Bring me Roses!"
I call, far beyond unfamiliar weeds.
So the Roses come forth. But the weeds
Grow closer, trampling the Roses. My love,
My dedication, trampled on. The Roses
Cry. I cry. We cry in agony. The weeds shear
My treasure. My children. I, the Queen,
Will not accept this. We are fragile.
So rings the alarm. "Protect the fragile
Ones!" sounds the alarm. Closer the weeds
Creep. The workers have already seen their Queen
Shatter. This will not happen again. My love
Must be protected. The workers advance, and shear
The weeds away, never letting them touch the Roses.
No trespasser shall harm my Roses.
The heart of the garden sings, so fragile
And delicate. So they continue to shear.
I have been broken before by the weeds.
That will never happen again. That love
Will continue to bloom. That love from a queen.
And so pests they shear, but they will tend the Roses.
The garden needs its Queen, a butterfly so fragile.
Far away from the weeds, I will continue to love.