I fall too easy, I wilt too fast That tint of sky after rain Always breaks me apart. Scattering itself in seven, What a con rainbows are! Divide as such from one A wound and many scars. Violet violets, indigo bush; Creepy silence, beloved so, Blue sky, green grass lush; Flaccid beauty, where ever I go. Tongues waging wars Pens that account these farce Yellow huts and orange face; Ah! The red that promised no race. Yet I get back up, And blossom atop With the shine of sun, Become clear and one.