Seasons

The winters may be long and chilly at the start,
The longing for the spring, keeps warm my little heart.
The spring, almost forgotten, is vivid enough to tease;
To promise orchids on harrowed soils, if just on a few days lease.

The summer presents a mockery of all that spring did offer,
But for all its burns and strokes and the feeling that it’s all over
The hangover of spring makes me plod through;
How can I feel the heat when the heart is cold and blue?

It’s the spring that makes me scary,
For if ever it should occur
That spring shines with all brilliance
But to me it lacks all color,
Then what could fill the emptiness
Of heart that cannot see –
That’s without desires, illusions,
Embitterment or glee.

So promise me sweetheart, that before my love depart,
You’ll be out there, ready to break my heart.

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