The seasons of the heart stop turning
When last the coals of hope quit burning...
The long wintered heart doth endow
Slumber, waiting for spring to come
Like the field that awaits the plow
Or, a seed that waits to become.
But no plow can break that frozen ground
Nor, can precious seeds of love be found...
It's a land where hope has vanished
That place called the long wintered heart
Where spring is forever banished
And, where winter never departs.
A dying land refusing to die
Frozen from pain beneath ashen skies...
A barren land with no cities
That's crowned a clown for it's king
A clown robed in blue self pity
Like, a blue bird that cannot sing.
No birds sing, no kingdom for the king
No summer's growth, no hope for a queen...
Yes, I know of this wintered place
In that wasteland there rules a clown
Who stole my name, and wears my face
With my smile painted upside down.
Timothy I. Brumley