Beside a wall with soil nourished,
I dug a pit and placed a seed.
I hoped the plant to grow and flourish,
As pretty as a rose and taller than a tree.
The soil was nourished and weather was bright,
I watered days and nights to see,
And hoped the speed would take a flight,
Grow pretty as a rose and taller than a tree.
Some days and nights went past in all,
The plant turned out to be a weed.
The weed was still believed to grow,
As pretty as a rose and taller than a tree.
Some days and months and years went past,
The weed was still a normal weed.
I told the weed its goal at last,
As pretty as a rose and taller than a tree.
More days and months and years went by,
Half dead and dried but still a weed.
I roared and roared to criticize,
Not pretty as a rose nor taller than a tree!
The wall however liked the weed,
It drove away the loneliness.
The flower also loved the scene,
Cause weed lit up her gracefulness.
Why should I wish my poor old weed,
Appeal of roses and height of trees?