The soil of silence waits each dawn, For what the dreamer plants upon. A single hope, a whispered prayer, Will bloom if given tender care.

But fear will drop its darker grain, And thorny vines will soon remain. The rains will fall on all that grows, Not choosing what the rootbed knows.

So guard the ground within your mind, And tend it with a heart that's kind.

Our mind is a garden, your thoughts are the seeds. You can grow flowers, or you can grow weeds.