Only the faces of each blackberry carry the leaves.
It rains, wets the leaves, maybe they become mirrors with the mentality, but the number of people who can go beyond being futile is always very low.
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As a result of all this indifference and unconscious devotion, blackberries ripen.
As they mature, they carry more faces.
In the end, the real truth, their ripening, the only purpose of their gains is to be eaten by someone, I wonder if they can understand whether the question of the needlessness in our face will be too full to feel the pain in the leaves.
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Maybe it's time to shake the heads, all the harvest time, the habits, the necessities, the necessities.
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