There's, where spring lies and waits for summer,
a place where things should grow.
I don't know the land well,
though I want to, though I know
this will help me with me.
Where goes this seed?
Will the sun shine here forever?
The lettuce I grew stared back at me
waiting to die.
I'm sorry.
I want to make it better.
I can, when I try,
make some things work.
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