The Watercolor of Seasons
The earliest spring begins to start,
As the final winter plays its part.
Perhaps the very journey's end of our brief days,
Where God denies death in a quiet maze.
Weaving through countless summers, autumn's grace,
Painting our lives across time and space
Into a watercolor, rich and deep,
Where all our painted colors wake and sleep.
We meet each other, souls of every kind—
Bright hues that leave our dancing feet unbound,
While darker shades sometimes conspire to throw
A deeper shadow where our spirits go.
Yet all the while, we fail to see
That light and dark were meant to be
No parting signs of bitter grief and pain,
But petals blooming in the sun and rain.
At last, the chilling winter makes its stand,
The final journey falling close at hand.
With God's last holy touch, a grand design—
The watercolor's masterpiece divine.
Before the Maker, wearing spring's first dress,
I stand stripped bare of winter's weariness,
And take off now, when all is said and done,
The final winter garment under the sun.
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