and are now in my garden.
They came in many guises. Some looked like old friends. Others were new, but I couldn’t imagine them doing what they did. They refuse to die. Try to kill one, and thousands take their place.
Some came as “charming, old-fashioned, heirloom herbs”;
or pretending to be ordinary garden bulbs;
or innocent hitchhikers on a lonely road;
or “rare and choice” rock garden plants;
or as “an unusual maple that no one else grows”
these are the Children of the Night, the plants from hell, whose names I dare not speak.