The gardener is a kind man—
his garden is always blooming.
With plants more precious than the next,
Rare that they are,
They even make the valuable seem replaceable.
In a garden,
Where different species of plants,
Were allowed to grow.
The ordinary were always an eye sour.
But the gardener is merciful.
He let a few live
but never gave them the finest water.
Even sunlight which is meant for everyone
Was measured for them.
That,
he said,
The finest water and sunlight was for those who mattered.