I cascade down the hill
On waves of weed and dirt.
There is no time to still.
The spring rains, they do find me.
I am filled with sweet
Chlorophyll and sunlight.
My sex is ripe with seed.
Summer comes like mortgage.
I hate its humid guts
And wish to die with mercy;
The nights, they give me some.
Foliage is manna.
Colors kiss my face
And fill me with their fluids.
Fall is best when late.
Here I find my ending.
The winter is my friend
And cold is my last lover.
It helps it all to end.
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