planting a wish, sowing it's worth

like a carousel

ride, I go round

and round,

a season of my life,

seeds continue to sprout

from the ground,

worthless fruit which grows without a drop,

so what is a man supposed to do,

but reap what he has sowed,

pick his crop,

then plow the ground,

plant once more and hope it's

not,

what is now beneath his toes.