The flowers lose their beauty overnight
when winter sings its haunting melodies.
The grass turns yellow-brown,
and dingy trees line up
against the sky's unchanging white
like cracks along a plaster wall of light.

The wind forgets to blow a pleasant breeze
and blows instead around the head to freeze
the eyes which tear with blurring, frigid sight.
So clearly time has spread its blight
across those spring and
summer times we call our youth.

The fertile seasons swing around
to end at harvest time
when none should think of loss
but summer minds have realized the truth:
when cold winds blow,
the stalks of grain must bend.

Tis the calling of your heart that it sends,
echoing in moments of loving bliss,
knowing the second of our first kiss.
As season to pass shall endlessly blow,
within my heart the truth be shown.

Surrender unto the movement of your heart,
this season speaks of a sweet blissful start.

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