A little seed lay in the ground
and soon began to sprout;
"Now which of all the flowers around,
shall I," it mused, "come out?"
The seed could then be heard saying
"I don't care to be a rose. It has thorns.
I have no desire to be a lily. It's too colorless
And I certainly wouldn't want to be a violet
It's too small, and it grows too close
to the ground."
And so it criticized each flower,
that supercilious seed,
Until it woke up one summer hour
and found itself a weed.