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
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