So much talk in your house, too
But the talk
This time was about me
It was so excessive
The house had confused about everything
But remarkably
Even your house remembers about me
But you can not
You searched me in the household things
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Whatever nature has bestowed upon me
I complain and grumbleAnd on the soil grow a treeIt becomes big and tallBut never bears any flower or fruitOf tranquillity and peaceI give up hopeAnd bury all expectationsNo demand I putBut one fine morning I seeTrees are full of flowersIn plenty they bear fruits for me