When no one listens, the quiet roar of the summer meadows rises into the Cosmos. So helplessly are they stuck in their short life, filled with insects and vermin, dripping their adorable tears in vain. Just like Society.

(Do the words of my marigolds grow in new-fallen snow, hard ice and beautiful meaninglessness?)

Wait..., while the wild strawberries are ripening for us right now. We never experienced anything not fundamentally worth contempt, never saw anything we didn't have to hate in secret. It is Love that kills everything good, thins life with its lack of understanding, with blind hatred as a defense.

(The thoughtless have gobbled up the entire forest's supply of berries and summer mushrooms and all too lightly the clouds let down a splash or two.)

*

You might think I'm dramatizing, making nature-lyrical similes and debaucheries that lack substance? That which cannot survive Reality will never be able to live in the long run. Here we are now: Past and beyond consideration of the unfavourable.