I cannot produce,
I cannot be used.
I sit here in dryness,
I call this abuse.

Seeds fall into me,
as they always do,
I cannot grow roses,
& flowers won't bloom.

My purpose stands nowhere,
I cannot see.
Why mother Earth,
would you do this to me?

I want to make tulips,
all lusciously aglow.
But there is a felling,
I'll never know.

Soil infertile,
Soil inebriate.
Why must I suffer,
this horrible fate?

Bring me winter,
Bring me spring,
bring all of the beautiful birds,
to sing.

Let me grow tulips,
let me grow roses.
As the sun shines,
on the children's noses.

Give me a beautiful,
wonderful garden.
Let me grow wood,
Let the tree's roots harden.