The evening storm
The morning sun
The shining Summer – burning
Fire red
As ice is blue
The cold wind isn’t learning
That flowers bloom
From buds of Spring
Like Autumn leaves of colour
With startling sense –
Emulsified –
Like blending
full cream milk
With melting butter.
What dreams may come
What loss I live
Tumultuous the calling
As twilight descends
In darkened sky
My memories are falling.
Seasons derive an afterglow –
From demonstrative a movement
No need to shout – the whisper’s out
The cream of seasons isn’t Winter.
The darling buds
Know brighter times
When re-growth derives the season
As we run hard
To see tomorrow’s yard –
The day for true believing.
sensualism 