The Good Weed (Poem)

The skies were so cold that they made the moon look pale.
The sea couldn't help but watch the moon,
with the same old awe,
as the moon was still shaping its tides.

The skies were so cold that they made the blue sea look pale.
The water droplets resting on a leaf saw the diminishing blue.
But they smiled,
they rejoiced,
when the trees turned the sea into green.

The skies were so cold that they made the trees look pale.
But up above a thousand miles
stood the massive mountains,
who admired the tree's generosity for the air.
The air that was magic.
The air that made life.
The air that they could never feel.

The skies were so cold,
and every part of the nature looked pale.
There stood a weed. Straight. Strong. Inspired. With Hope. Holding a wish!