Creation has time constraints

The fruit is rotting

I can see my hands past the core

Seeds trickle through my fingers

I can’t go back to the store

It is closing at midnight and it is half-past when I was okay

I just want to see tomorrow in its glory

Fifty cents in my pocket gets me nowhere but a reminder of the fruit seeds

Of what could have flourished into trees

Baring fruits that fill my needs

But the seeds are metal tokens clanking in my pocket full of holes

Never growing into home

I do not have water to nourish them

Or the ground to bury them

I can wait

I cannot wait

Guess I will wait

For spring

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