I built a nest for the lovely birds that give charm to the peach-tree. I pruned all the roses that were in the left side of the fence. I picked up the best orchids and did a small bunch with them just to add some color to your room. I watered the leaves so they don't loose their exuberance. I trimmed the hedge, carefully, to not let it loose its' buds while emerging. I made the weeds stuck between the beauty and the land die.
But after all I'm the naive who cluster the old leaves you left fallen on the ground during the last two months. I'm feeding the history they lived by clustering them all and make them see they still are present in the same small space.
But you only realize the grass I cut, you only care about the hard work that I spare you and that I insist to do to make this garden look minimally appreciable.
You're blind and unable to see what it's always been about.
There are moments I can't help but ask why do I carry the rake in my hands.
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