Why won't you wither?
Your fruit have all ripened,
And I don't need you now across the horizon.
A fresh wind blows,
With it I'm free,
I try to forget but you keep planting seeds.
In comes a storm,
It dampens the ground,
Up come the sprouts but I trample them down.
Blame it on the Sun,
Or blame it on the Moon,
The time came for collecting and you did not bloom.
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