Growing Weeds Poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

I sowed seeds, numerous,
In the minds of multitudes,
In the form of benevolent deeds,
Some tiny, some giant,
And a few most precious,
With the hope of a good harvest.

Some never sprouted or rooted;
Some were infant mortals.
Some fell on rocks or in desert,
Or were prey to the pests,
With the rest managing to grow
And bore fruits,
Which were either sour or stolen
Or were left rotten.
Yet, with the solace I go
That the bio-mass that I made
Is very much in need
To serve as a mulch to the folks.
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