yielding

I'm ready for the rains of a storm,

Torrentially destroying my harvest.

'Cause by spring I must be back:

Renewed, regained, relived.

Maybe by replanting my ruined life for me

I shall have a green growth.

Maybe by ploughing my fields 

I shall not be bowed.

Solitude follows me around,

like grains,

abandoned by its progenitors.

Them and I shall live till the end.

Though never I shall rest,

Life will never let me lack.

Intruders may try to plunge me,

Though never They shall have success.