You threw a seed onto the ground, stamped your foot, and turned around:
A raven looked back up at you, pecked up the seed, then off he flew.
So down you tossed another seed, and stamped your foot to smash a weed,
But many briars shared its bed, and choked your little sprout till dead.
A final seed you laid to rest, in moistened dirt, a careful nest.
You tended to its every need, and up it grew, that little seed
Matured into a grateful vine, that blossomed with the sweetest wine!
So when your mother plants a seed, tend to it, and take some heed.
What she has sewn, will not be known
Till you have et, the fruit beget.
~ An Old Lly Nursery Rhyme