Walking through the garden, he sees one in bloom,
This flower being pure is what we assume.
He bends down to take a closer look,
Reading each petal like a sweet book.
With a couple of fingers, he caresses the stem,
Knowing full well that he's found a gem.
Yet instead of allowing the beauty to grow,
And keep getting nicer 'til comes the snow,
He grabs the poor flower and yanks it right out,
And claims he is great with a powerful shout.