I once came across an orchard, whose trees hung ripe with fruit. Upon every branch a bird, a' top the ground a root. Not an apple lay fallen and forgotten, nor did a leaf allow itself to be carried away, for there bloom was eternal, yet still I did not stay. I was but a weed, lowly and unwanted. I dared not plant my seed, for fear of being taunted. And though once a beautiful flower, I now lay sick and dying. I always had the power, but never started trying.