And what you plan to do,
Green plant that sit in room?

Where thinks could be your dreams?
Or do you even dream at all?
What sunsets could you see?
Or swimming shore above?

And question me your roots,
In dirt that act like boots:

Are tickled they like hell?
In brown and white soil?
Can itchy get your face?
Does water run too deep?

Now look at me your leaves,
Which rarely bend from tree:

What age could they recall?
Of passions, dreams, and all?

And what you plan to do,
Green plant that sit in room?