When she's having a bad day, she doesn't cry.
She may shed tears every once in a while,
but they aren't shed in the name of misery, no,
rather over an accumulation of joy.
Tomorrow, or later,
she will smile, or shine,
when she will have
turned grass greener,
given trees and bushes a chance at life,
and we may curse at her while she weeps,
with a fork, or a knife,
and for what ...
Sure she makes us wet,
but she isn't in debt
to us, the fools
who fail to see
her renewable generosity.