The Old Man and His Garden

I saw this old man time and time again, I was a little child then; He wakes up early in the morn, Despite there is a rainstorm; No idea of having his tea, Whilst I saw him with bended knees; Picking up all the fallen leaves by his hand, There is not even a single weed in his land; Altogether but lovely flowers with different hues, Rose, dahlia, marigold to mention few; He walks to and fro around his garden, Signalling that trespassers are forbidden; When I smiled at him, he frowns, Like an angry king without a crown; Years and years passed by, I still saw the old man working like a busy bee; Grown old and full of wrinkles, But his eyes still twinkles; He takes good care of his garden, Like a responsible warden; Yet again, I tried to smile at him, he frowns, Like an angry king without a crown.