My Rain Song.
The season has come to bloom in the land of the new, where the wolves hunt the sheep and the
man does what only god knows. The trees wish for the rain, but to no avail it has become even
a dryer day. The spider spins his web hoping that many will tread upon his mastermind of
deception his one and only try. For after this web has been spun the old spider will surely come
undone. The winter has risen and the Wolf has his sheep and spider has his catch, but what of
trees? When will there rain arrive? Will the sun ever show mercy or will it keeps its downpression
on going for the celestial time being? All I know is that these trees are now dying and not one
has mumbled even a word.
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