A breath of thought,
And a world bloomed.
In it all was as it should be,
Beauty and sweet to see.
Yet a thought corrupted the mind
And then started the works of a fiend,
The earlier world now grew weeds,
After all there is never peace.
And now as the weeds without the plants
Rot , as no food was there for thought,
The dreamer did realize,that what seed
he does bury,will determine what he does reap.
And now was not too late,
So determined to write his fate,
He opened his mind to the sky,to the sun,
And let the water run
To the good plants
And when few did pop,he plucked the weeds.
