Seasons Turning

[ghostlion]

Whimsy wanders wildly
across the Winter's windy
storms, as man and
beast wait out the travail
huddled in shapeless form.
Before hearth and in caverns
deep where chill does not
to quickly creep as they
wait out the world turning
yet again.
Songs soar on Spring's
showers, sliding surely down
ending thirst of the waking
Earth and granting buoyant spirits
all around
In shade laden fields Summer
seeps idly from sky and stone
alike as the sun shines and casts
aglow, man and beast alike, setting
spirits to gasping long cuddled
tight under clear skies at night
where moments of naked skin
sweatily might copulate
and soft moans escape with delight
Fleetingly the seasons turn and leaves
droop down in readiness for dormancy
as Fall fills the heavens with gusty
breezes and warning chill of Winter
yet to renew her frost laden dainties
across oak, and spruce and yew.
Filling time each year, changing
landscapes and hearts like cast off
clothes as styles are forgotten or
renewed.
Impermanent the moment.
Impermanent our oaths.
In time everything fades
away, in passing memory.
Only to be renewed, briefly
flared again at some future point
of history.