I'm just a common ragweed
Though I'd rather be a rose
The kind that wins the prizes
At the annual flower shows
But I'll never be a beauty
And I cannot be a rose
For one can't change his species
Which is fate, I suppose
There must be a special reason
The good Lord made me thus
So why should I, His deed decry
And kick up such a fuss?
Instead of spending all my days
In wasteful discontent
I'll busy myself with ragweed chores
The way that I was meant
If I bring a bit of cheer
To others through the day
The Lord will know I've done my best
To live my life His ragweed way
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