In summer days, you’re loved, you’re olive bright

The shell is thick like golden gourd, like tent
In bitter days, you’re weary too, the fright
The soul is red, is dark, with discontent.
The superficial level is the end
Of what is seen, no covert ascertained,
You smile in front of everyone, a friend
Familiar is getting bitter and pained.
We thought our tie is endless link, a void
Your evidently charming grace lures flies,
But largely,earnest, trueness, lack in you
Your grace is riding down the hill, in cries.
Your grace is rotten watermelon wrecked,
A grace for all except who need respect.