If your most well known friend is regret, and your most feared enemy desire, then you've lived a life with neither joy nor faith, and maybe change is what you require.

Its small, yellow head peeks sweetly through the grass, eager to kiss the sun's golden rays of light. It's just a weed, a nuisance a pain only, there to annoy.

Or is it?

It IS just a weed, with a short, outcast life.
But it spends its short life better than most,
Living only to bring happiness to others.

I don't think many mothers can honestly say they haven't smiled upon
receiving a weed or two,
A small, sweaty, fistful of weeds, clutched sweetly by her small child.

Who can say, they have never made a wish as they blow on its fluffy white head
Watching each little seed fly away, heavily laden with the blower's hopes and dreams?

When I look at my yard, the first thing I notice is a spot of golden color,
Strewn Among the green carpet,
Here and there, dotting the grass with color.

My yard reminds me of the world and the people in it.
The masses of people who travel in clumps, each alike, are like the grass.
But, the people who walk the Earth, trying to make it a better place to live,
remind me of the little yellow flowers.

Ask yourself this:

Are you in a Clump?
Or are you an individual?

To start a business and fail, to run for political office and not get elected, to love and not be loved in return, are sometimes the traits of a very successful person.
- John Dillow -

"May your trails be crooked, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poet's towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes, and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightening clangs upon the high crags, where something more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you beyond that next turning of the canyon walls."

-Edward Abbey