Seasons Numbered

There bloomed a field of flowers wild across a meadow bare fallen seeds from ravens beak there traveled free of fare Heavens tears washed their bed then covered a blanket spun of sun giving life to such fragile flowers yet to life the winters come Thin and sheer those sheets like glass a pretentious lens on the past much like innocence and a human soul like ice they crack and adapt Seasons ever change and beauty washes away Tis the artistry within the wild the knowing it will never be the same Oh yes, one day, they'll live again they will seem even stronger than before finding their moments bathed in tears but their days in the sun no guarantor Cruel winters shall never cease to come vanishing colors first vibrant just like the soul exponentially broken ebbs it's passion and soon becomes silent One must color the path they see one must see the hues of their dreams for the fare is no longer free of charge nor the number of seasons we'll see