Joyful seedtime – tilling, planting, tending. But an ill wind howled through Withering, shriveling the fruits of my loving labor. Now just when the cupboards are approaching bare, my harvest is no more than ashes. Have the wrathful winds spent themselves? Shall I replant and hope? Tend and pray? Yes. Of course I will. And despite evidence to the contrary, I will indeed hope again.
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Joyful seedtime – tilling, planting, tending.
But an ill wind howled through
Withering, shriveling the fruits of my loving labor.
Now just when the cupboards are approaching bare,
my harvest is no more than ashes. Have the wrathful winds spent themselves?
Shall I replant and hope?
Tend and pray?
Yes. Of course I will.
And despite evidence to the contrary,
I will indeed hope again.
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