I'm a current of seasons,
a loose routine of uncertain
atmospheres and weathers.
Blossoming, shining,
raining-yet again falling apart,
like arrogant leaves.
How I long to cling on a single color,
for my sentiments are tired from
natural changes and so are, my fruits,
those wishes that dry before the harvest.
I wonder if you will you enjoy
settlement with me?
before I reap...
