Cement Seedling

I don't need very much to stay alive, a little urban rain from time to time. It's not luxurious, here in the ground, but I'm content with it, this life of mine. There's not a lot for me to view from here; the iron forest always sees to that. It must be nice to venture past those trees; but trapped am I, within this concrete crack. At times, my mistress seems unfair; although, I'm quite accustomed to this static fate; her morning eye and moistful firmament ensure my needs are met, despite my state. I'm well aware her sight does take a while to reach my herbal arms from where I stand, but being patient is a noble trait, and one that's helped me flourish in this land. Oh there's no need to worry over me; I'm quite resilient for a city weed. I know I can't get up and rule my life; but as I said, there's not much that I need. But what of you, my busy human friend? How goes the life your maker granted you? Forgive my prying, but I'm most concerned with all the stress that you've been going through. You have the freedom to decide your home, the priv'lege to decide what you will eat, the sov'reignty to change your day's routine, and you were gifted with nomadic feet. I cannot say decisions aggravate, for they are favors I have never had. But how can one despise such dowery? I can't imagine how that'd be so bad. So listen to this humble seedling's word: before you think your life is but a curse, take out the time to reassess your gifts; your life could surely be a great deal worse.