Written By Kalani
Oct. 22, 2020, 1:57 p.m.(4/2/1014 AR)
Is it spring, at last? I sometimes think that winter lasts just long enough to almost rob us entirely of hope, of even the memory of what spring will be like and the inexorable change of the seasons. As much as it's probably distasteful to share poetry, in public, here it is anyway.
"Tumbling in the autumn breeze
across the golden field
how bright, how frail, how transient
is the seasons yield.
A breath away, a brush of wind,
winter sighs at the door.
The night is come, She sleeps serene,
seasons turn evermore."
"Tumbling in the autumn breeze
across the golden field
how bright, how frail, how transient
is the seasons yield.
A breath away, a brush of wind,
winter sighs at the door.
The night is come, She sleeps serene,
seasons turn evermore."
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