Changes

[helenatroy]

See? The wind has swept every trace
of summer, and blasted the green
things which I so love of this place.
Here comes winter, hard and mean.

Still unaccepting, still I hold
August close, high wind, clear white sun;
colors surround us growing bold
and brightly, the day now begun.

And you, as I, vanquish the thief
of time with words. We compare notes.
His allies since have pursued me sans relief
and now we are in separate boats.

The winter wind is harsh, and hard;
This oar from you will serve me well.
I feel the cold, but hold my guard
And warmth again? I let time tell.