You I

took the rue
too late
you know
I resignate
what ensued -
the waste of hope your hate 
you sowed sour seed
and left
nothing grew -
too late
am I renewed 
too many weeds
to contemplate
too much sour ground
to plant anew
bereft
I survey
the want the waste 
await
my fresh day
earth fallow
and quiet, ready
for tilling

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