Some men wander the world,
Searching to and fro,
Seeking for something,
That they'll easily find,
A beautiful flower,
That has molded and died,
It's green faded away,
To a golden shine,
When they find it,
They'll take it out,
Out of the ground,
From it's past,
From it's chance,
To live again,
To return to green,
The gold to be shed,
But that chance died,
When he pulled the roots out,
To forge a new,
With it's golden shine,
Something to place,
On his trophy wall,
Beside the others,
That he enthralled,
Then he leaves,
Without a care,
Of the beauty,
That he deformed,
To leave it be,
To let it rust,
To find another,
Golden flower.
