So seasons pass all eight of them!
from calm to gusty days,
from shock and realisation, to
shock and back again,
you can’t stop the rain from falling
but you can catch it in your hands
and, in so doing –
you cup life within your palms.
In soft and gentle days of Spring
to gather forth a plan,
you breathe again and understand
in veiled obscured, shifting sands,
the changes, as in flowers grow
unfold in prudent ways,
but life will never be entirely, quite
the same again.
So Summer came as some did say?
but we preclude most all these days.
In fear and sacred keeping
to grasp and hold at bay
but sabre swords do block our way,
with dragons at our door,
and Summer passes like poppies fade
amidst golden sunlit fields.
As pears that do not ripen
affirmation takes it’s place,
when Autumn turns to gold
my mind trenchant and keen;
I conquer many fearsome things
subdue and overcome, and as the mists
arrive, how precious days become…
So Seasons pass, all eight of them
and two years fly as seconds do,
the snow lies on the ground –
as hearts can only do,
and as I stand before thee
in Grateful Gratitude, to
glean and gain as red berries do,
to start the Year anew…
@ Copyright 2008
