Seasons

The pink of morning twilight,
The sprouting of new greens.

Promise

The blazing noontime Sun,
Lush meadows, woods, and forest.

Maturity and growth.

Evening dusk, shadowy and dim,
The harvest gathered, the baton passed on.

Fulfillment.

The dead of night, silent and dark,
Fond recollection and wistful regrets.

Completion.

Spring cut short, crushed underheel,
Summer a carrot to propel the wheel,
Fall a farce, completely bereft,
Embracing the Winter, 'tis all that is left.

Seasons progress, the tides ebb and flow,
Existence grinds on, massive stones always go.

Was it too much to ask?

Comments

[Eris Dis Harmonia]

To this, I must say no.