Anyone who's truly intelligent and has the proper support networks can make a garden out of a desert.
I wasn't born in a desert, I was born in a garden.
But realistically speaking, even gardens suffer droughts, plagues, and just plain bad days that affect the growth and development of different parts of it. The least that could be done is to give some spare time, water, and nutrients to other gardens that one comes across, even the most seemingly wasted, with these two things in mind: that you never know if something is dead or just hanging on for a little nourishment to flourish, and that, like with gardening, the final decision of success or failure is never up to you, but when results are later seen, they always bring with them a feeling of wonder and perspective.
Sing a song of sixpence, pockets full of rye,
Johnny with your sixpence, bellyfull of wine,
Pulling down the drink since there's something on your mind;
Quit searching for that sixth sense, the other five are fine,
But you're not one to think when you're looking for a sign.
Jenny with some rue seeds, better take some rye:
Pockets full of wishes never gonna shine,
If you get your sixpence, give it to the grind;
Money where your mouth is, bread is close behind,
But Johnny's got your sixpence, and Johnny's doing time.
Johnny's on the down-low, Jenny's on the climb,
He's looking for his chance, but the stars won't quite align,
She's taking what she can, but the can won't ever chime,
So sing a song of sixpence, sing a song of rye:
Songs with happy endings always cost a dime.