The frost was bound to kill them all,
So we did what we had to do,
And, though they may well ripen still,
Their flavor will never be true.
But, there are still so many ways
That we can put them all to use,
And they will never be wasted,
There’s no “I’m less perfect” excuse.
We all have our talents and blessings
And a calling to put them to use,
So you can complain upon the sill
Or ripen… but it’s you who must choose!
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