Mind to me is like a tree,
so fresh and full of harmony.
Though at first may seem fragile,
this lasts not but for a while.

Watered with the tears of eyes,
nurtured loved desired.
Either giving fruits so grand,
but often thorns inspired.

When it grows enough with time,
Strong its stem and clear its crime.
Some cling firm to the ground,
Through storms and rainy weather.
Others tilt without a sound,
To naught aught but a feather!

In the end the truth reveals,
The fruits that men devour.
Will they taste so grand and sweet?
Or will they rot with sour!