Seasonal Love

Do we come back around

like the seasons?

The rich juices of  Spring

filling our veins with

 old longings?

This time for planting seeds

available only to

ancient souls such as

ourselves.

Summer bringing the

hope of a

rich harvest

Days mellow with

expectation, 

waiting

for fruition.

Fall bringing

what?

Not the promised

result?

The fruit is not

sweet enough,

the size is smaller

than desirable,

not the best colour,

not the expected

yield?

What kind of garden

have we left, how

much loss is there?

Winter coming in

with its deep chill,

cold winds blow,

the sun is low on

the horizon

No succor available

for parched egos,

Go away, go away

There is silence

The cold, cold silence

of winter creating a

pall over our

landscape.

Is it death or

hibernation?

Is it over?

 Or

merely, as always,

and to be expected,

the changing of

seasons.

Ellecee