The Human Seasons
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Four seasons fill a year’s colours of time
and fills the core of human shell and gourd -
in that fullness of youth’s Spring balm its prime
will reap the honied hive of years endured.
And golden Summer so brightly spangled
from whence its labours the swollen vine strips,
lest it not plucked lays withered and tangled
only to bear a thirst upon these lips.
For the reach of time rings the culling tree
when Autumn its rich shedding off has cast -
so begins the end, a fading glory
in the long shadows of lusting days past.
Winter too, when the cold hoary bark wets
and the pale mortal sun upon me sets.
Written: May 2011
Inspired by The Human Seasons by John Keats
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2025
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