Poetry / Confusion and Desire Wrought These Things

The birds are in their eaves
Chirping that I love you
But I can’t wholeheartily agree
As they wholeheartedly
Sing their hearts out.

For I am a cloud:
Fleeting.
The same, yet ever-changing.

Evaporate your love to me
And I will rain my love back to you.
The more you give,
The more you’ll recieve.

The birds will get used to it,
And once they do,
I’ll agree with them.

Please.
Our harvest needs us.  

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