Never plant thorns along the way,
For barefoot hearts may walk someday.
The seeds of spite, though sharp they grow,
Return to pierce the ones you know.

Your children’s steps, so soft, so small,
May find the pain within that wall.
So scatter blooms, let mercy reign,
And love will shield them from the pain.

The path you shape, with deed and song,
Will guide their feet their whole life long.
Choose roses bright, not thorns that sting,
And watch their future blossoming.