Four Seasons or Loneliness... |
| In Spring I was but a newborn bud, With petals of flesh, and bone, and blood. The first of shoots to break the soil, And start anew their yearly toil. A fresh faced flower not strong of stem, Just new arrived in the garden of men. But Seasons change, And Flowers grow... And so did I, As well it shows..... The Summer came and found me hale, With bouquets of Rose and Pinks so pale. My roots were sunk both well and deep, To keep me moist 'gainst Summer's heat. My leaves were green and my stalk grew tall, I kept my blooms well into Fall. Yet Seasons change, And Flowers must... As Green turns into, Golds and Rusts... Then Autumn came and blossoms droop, Limbs grow faint, and bodies stoop. The Harvest nights so chills one's bed, As wilted petals drop black and dead. Thus turns the cycle towards it's end, Just like it will each year again. Yet Seasons change, And Flowers too... As Frost replaces, Morning dew... Winter skies turn cold and bleak, As buds stay closed and roots grow weak. An icy wind blows fierce from high, As hail and snowflakes start to fly. So 'neath the white I'll breath my last, With all the ones who's time has passed. The Seasons change, And Flowers die... The World goes on, And No-one cries... |
| 09-04-1998 |
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