Your Heart Once Mine Was Too Heavy

From my center from this many songs and the fruit even now is over ripe bearing. Then of which now I sing of is heavy. Love never how often matures, but like me is not possible and never to give in to the one. My song does not linger it belong to just me. However when it is thin at last comes the evening. Filling the moon joy filled never of gloom. Flying the moth goes to there and lands here. When at last turning gray in time the growing fat the fruit falls. Has it known everyone of that, from you when it takes? Where it lands soft in the hand time it tells.