The summer brings the fullness to all of your ambition.
Your seeds are ripe, a time for rest, your work complete.
You strove with all at your command, you asked for no condition.
Tomorrow’s seeds you leave behind for time’s defeat.
We mortals too, will give our all and ask but naught of Fate.
But grow within our chosen earth which, with our deeds,
We enrich the tilth that our experience will create.
So, when our time is done, we too will leave sewn seeds.