Garden, Garden - what do you grow?
Your stony soil breeds weeds alone
Who knew such rough land would
Be yours to tend and sow?
The sun beats down, hot and strong
The rain beats down, cold and long
But the soil never grieves
Its stones which are solid and true
They make it barren but still hold tight
For that's exactly why they were placed
And nature gives no second chances
But man knows naught of these desires
One day, the soil will reach a potential;
When the hand of man intervenes
To cast the stones asunder.
