I miss the sharp chills more and more,
The freezing bite and dust of frost that
Rendered silver the grass blades aching
For Spring's warm and gentle smile.
Now we slink beneath rain-grey clouds,
Muttering about the inadequacies of the
Seasons, their lack of definition and a
Rootlessness we would rather think
Is less to do with us than the vast and
Lonely enterprises of the Universe.
They'll come again, Summer's fire and
Winter's ice, Spring's generous rains
And Autumn's swollen harvest falls,
And maybe we will know them, too,
Or just maybe we'll all be gone.
January 2016
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
