There is a certain need within the heart to rotate crops, lay Grain where hay grew, pumpkin seeds where there was corn Rising tall last August. So that the land can breathe, pay Notice to safeguards, ensuring thus that every woven horn Remains well filled; - there is a need. But life is short, the case So often that we springtime-panic, sow alike too close in time, One eroding passion on the ripe heels of another. Then our haste Is shown in common ways: watching friendships wither on the vine, Good water and rich fertilizers wasted - these costs never defrayed By other season's harvests. Always red-inked pages of the ledger Staining others after them, reminders constant, much to our dismay That these amateur mistakes don't make predictions any better. No, the only worth we're apt to learn from withered fields is fear - And such trepidation proves no good to us next planting year.
~CRH August 2012
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