Harvest

A girl plants a gooseberry seed, and she watches as it grows.
She waters it, she feeds it, and tells it everything she knows.
She places it in the sun, directly beneath the sky,
She asks herself, ‘Dear gooseberry bush, why do you wilt and die?’

I’ve given you soil that’s most fertile and sopping wet!
I’ve pruned you every day with the finest shears that I can get!
I’ve placed you in a spot directly beneath the sun!
Your roots compete for nothing, because you’re the only one!

I come to check on you always, out to your empty field!
Yet for the farmer who tends to you, you’ve produced me no viable yield!
I planted you, watched over you, and I waited for you to be grown!
I don’t understand, little gooseberry bush, why I don’t reap what I have sown?