I'm green and fire, risen after a wish. Music cleanses me. I grow from a seed. He, who divided the wheat, from dead to fresh cut me deep. I am the weed you can't forget. I come again spring after spring. I feel thirst as summer beats the sense out of me. I dare wish for the rain, but I am the forgotten. The Dame deems I am not a pleasure. The gardener reads me as a treasure, but there's no water to be scattered. I am at the fringe of desire, watered is the only verb I can think of, thereof if it doesn't rain I'll die. I spark gold, this revolution will not be televised. I search for an avenue to transcend the weakness of my name. A coward can't hear ingrained pain. Toward strength, I go, the wind raises me! Heat doesn't stop me from spreading myself, not as a replica, but as gradual waves of textual green. From this ground, I'll raise. I'll echo without greed. I'll stem a system that dignifies fate. I'll grow in wisdom. Respect a weed, even forsaken from a garden, hate won't drought my voice. I'm the golden fire. I won't die in vain as love resurrects my nerves, those ignited by compassion, either green or fire, the greenest gold.