27


I AM THE weary earth of summer bare of life and parched.

I wait for thy shower to come down in the night when I open my breast and receive it in silence.

I long to give thee in return my songs and flowers.

But empty is my store, and only the deep sigh rises from my heart

through the withered grass.

But I know that thou wilt wait for the morning when my hours will brim with their riches.

 

 

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