Davis Smith Poet Quatrain

Lessons From the Season

When December drops its load,
as the season starts its march in spite,
I find myself enraptured
 by the ice of time.

That was the time for loving,
as our hearts in bliss were plump and ripe,
and life was passed through the lens
of innocent smiles.

The time for strapping on boots,
as the frost released our minds from strife,
and it was nothing but fuel
for pure rejoicing.

That dazzling powder puffs dreams,
of a place where time stopped in spirit,
and signs of sentimental
giving floated free.

Today I’m here and flying
on the wings of the past and soak up
joy as before, but is there
more than just this rush? 

After all, pleasure is here
but for a spell and the bell chimes loud
for reality to break
loose in our worn bones.

True, we often ignore plans
which have been spread out for us with care,
but lessons are treasured as
years of childhood prove. 

And though we’re figments in dust,
death itself is trampled in its grave,
so pack your heart with this peace;
embrace time’s wisdom.

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