• It's Monday's dry spell again; care to tend your garden?
    Don't look at me; I have my own crows to chase away.
    You could always dance for the sky every now and then.
    But you fail to help yourself even on a sunny day.

    It bothers me that you want sympathy from me.
    I don't think I would want to revive your withered fruits.
    It is because I don't want to, you see.
    Carry on, for you need guidance starting at the roots.

    Six days passed with collages of snow, hail, lighting, and thunder.
    Six days gave you all the time in the world to fix your garden.
    You must be mentally disabled, because I often wonder.
    Now it's Monday and I am forced to hear you rant again.

    I made a mistake, this I know.
    I certainly said enough apologies.
    I want you to leave me be and let me go.
    I fled from you due to your bad qualities.

    Seasons come and go throughout the years.
    Sometimes we grow golden apples and at times a colony of weeds.
    Your weeds are the misfortunes that we've shared between your ears.
    Your weeds grew from your bad seeds.

    Alas, rain has fallen on this wondrous Monday.
    Washed away are your greatest fears.
    When you undergo another dry spell day.
    I cannot grow back your tears.