Wheat and weed

There I sat alone, a picture of desolated being

unlike the joy and innocence of yester reaper solitary,

weeping to the wilderness silently for this bitter living

unconsoled by merry breeze nor the scenic beauty.


“Life is unfair, for it gives in abundance things unwanted

ignoring my heart’s deep desires without a flinch”

cried I to the lonely plants and wise trees around

in search of an ear sympathetic in this dreary hitch.


“Dear, clear your vision and see the mound”

whispered wind, the traveller to lands all,

“Weeds unwanted thrive unattended sans toil

yet wheat grows with brows sweat and hands boiled.”


“So too in life, my dear heartbroken lad”

murmured the martyrs, fallen leaves under my feet,

“Strive for the weary wheat and not easy weed,

for struggle and loneliness are worth their end fruit”


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