Along the sidewalks, they stand forlorn,
Trembling with fear, of getting trampled upon.
Cute little flowers like kernels of corn,
You find them one day and the next, they are gone.

Neither a bouquet nor a vase they adorn,
But still undeterred, they spring up every morn.
Pining for a covert glance, but viewed with scorn,
Do they ever wonder, why they were born?