sadi3-g

The harvest cries with the moon cried with the moon that night blood on the metal was too soon not too soon for the moon that night The frozen ground was a faucet Cramming deserts into its crop But later it would no longer grow such fruitful things because fruitful it was not The corn disagreed with the crimson and the eighteen year old howls to the sky the reek of death so deep into the season camped into the soil, till spoil and the harvest was no more