Within the garden of good deeds

There sprouted a lithe, drab weed

Rooted deep in the soil of discontent

Nourished by the pill of death

Offshoots of the infiltrator spread

'Til one day no flowers blossomed

Color and fragrance adandoned

The garden of good deeds

For now it was enveloped

With a population of lithe, drab weeds

Dead is the garden of good deeds

It died not from the infiltration

Of the lithe drab weeds

It's demise was foretold

By the tears in the gardener's eyes

Color and fragrance it seems

He had come to regard with disdain

Permitting the pill of death

In the soil of discontent

To roam freely within the garden

Of good deeds