some days it seems sorrow stems like thorns beneath the leaves of intellect. sun-starved petals wilt for want of water, desperate to slake their thirst on summer-showers. the process of photosynthesis forestalled by the ambivalence of the heavens. hedge rows turn to labyrinths in the mind, droughts sap the vigor that bleeds from trees we planted like solemn columns in this temple we call the human psyche. a pestilence has settled in, a dank fog that rankles our resolve and strips bark like armor from the human spirit. weeds rose from fecund soil, strangling all that once grew here.