On a deep-brown sea floats red, pink, white and green.
And within there are a few daring, yellow, purple.
Around this garden, the people walk.
Rushing off to soak up knowledge, become enlightened.
Here lies the hope, the future.
But there are cigarette butts in the garden.
The smoke and the stench pervade.
And the people's minds are clouded with it: with complaints, and with desires for chemical alteration.
They wearily tread through each day; caring not for the truth, but only for a way to escape it.
They do not see the garden; they only throw their cigarette butts in it.