Left standing in the garden

And sometimes i wonder, Why do i bother? Why do i do such favors when it is not returned?

Why do i love when the love is not returned? why do i bother, when such bother is met with only insults. Insults for which i have rebutted many a time.

If i were to be left standing in the garden i could be beaten thrown and torn, but i would know, as long as i held out, i would then be admitted to the temple

But here, i could watch as the snow builds up around my shins, and still never know if waiting will achieve anything

I am but a novice, waiting to become a master

I am a novice without a teacher