Sweat trickles down the gardener's neck.
The hot sun beats down on his back.
He stands up straight,
Wipes the perspiration from his brow,
Picks up his shovel,
And continues digging.
The holes the gardener digs are so deep,
And within them he plants the most beautiful flowers.
The tulips, and the daffodils, and the pansies,
Blossom and grow as the gardener sprinkles them with water.
But then, the gardener got tired of pansies,
And he got sick of tulips.
He stop watering them,
And slowly the flowers fell over.
Their petals turned brown,
And fell down to the soil.
As the seasons changed,
The gardener ripped the flowers from the ground by the roots,
And filled their holes with roses,
Because he liked the way they smell.
But when he got pricked by the rose's thorns,
He missed the simplicity of his daffodils.
But those flowers wilted away,
And left holes that could never be filled.