The Gardener

God makes the flowers
And shows them how to bloom.
Some shine brightly in the sun
While others face their doom.

The fate of withering too soon
For all the smog they choose;
They wither when they think they bloom.
True happiness they lose.

I heard the gardener weeping;
The flower he chose did die.
Slowly, he started to realize
A blooming flower before his eye.

The gardener weeps no more
For he has finally found
Flowers that will not wither
'Til to heaven they are bound.