Poem of growth

I'm as sharp as a butter knife And a plant brought back to life My brain is an empty bookshelf But my heart is an open book itself He doesn't like story tales or fiction The throat thists for better diction As my eyes read through crooked lines For details hidden in the dark mines For shiny colours and other rich rock A search away from doors that remain lock Opportunity was as visible as blind support A dream lasted as an inspiring thought The final feeling said dig a hole So I dugged as a mole After that i burried A seed I sowed and if time had hurried I wouldn't admire the daisy that grew From an ill limey green who would knew By season pass its healthy green and white The pressure was so great at its despite But it grew from the emptiness A dugged hole is a place of happiness