From the pot, a green stalk has grown.
I take pride in what I have sown.
I see small leaves begin to form
From them, great beauty will be born.
They will flourish before my eyes
Gracefully growing in their size,
The blossom will begin to bloom,
And the sprouting will also loom.
The stem will shoot into the air.
The flower will be nice and fair.
I see the flower, big and tall,
And growing larger than them all.
Their leaves do shine with their moist dew,
And the petals will glisten, too.
Tragically, the flower does wilt,
And I cannot help but feel guilt.
The flowers does blacken and die,
And I am then left to ask why.
As I stand and mourn my sad toil,
I feel glad for the fertile soil.