Nestled in the muddy ground,
on a winters day,
a tiny seed could be found,
thinking in dismay.

"What flower should I be," he said,
tossing and turning each way,
"For I need to join a flower bed,
by the month of May."

"Lilies are too mellow,
cactuses hurt me.
Sunflowers are too yellow,
what flower should I be?"

Roses' fashion is too old,
Daisies' is too new.
Tulips get too cold,
and Violets are too blue."

Then came time to join a flower bed,
no form suited the little seed.
With the strength to supress the norm, instead,
out popped a weed.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Ero, in the year 224 AF.