A little seed lay in the ground,
And soon began to sprout,
"Now which of the flowers all around,"
It mused, "shall I come out?
The lily's face is fair and proud,
But just a trifle cold;
The rose I think is rather loud,
And then it's fashion's old,
The violet is very well,
But not a flower I'd choose;
Nor yet the Canterbury bell,
I never cared for blues.
Petunias are by far too bright,
And common flowers besides;
The primrose only blooms at night
And peonies spread too wide."
And so it criticized each flower,
This supercilious seed;
Until it woke one summer hour,
And found itself a weed.
(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8) for more inspiration