04/10/2024
Vicissitude of seasons, fickle as people must;
Like poems twine to dust.
'My dear, did the fear of losing it all, held you back?'
'To abstain, as opposed to have this poorly cat all black?'
How that life was but a flower, in the spring time,
the only pretty ring time.
When birds do sing, such avian symphony they bring.
To when bee's do dance—sweetly, grant nectars to lovers in the spring.
The warm weather greets in the morning breeze,
Warm reflections in past,
'My love, just stay, I offer you warmth; so please stay—unfreeze.'
Branches of trees waved in the howling wind,
Whispers in pave;
'My sweet, sweet lover, soule such radiantly kind.'
Found themselves prisoners on brier—end.
Once, was 'One' twain to mend.
'Offered my rudy hand of roses, as too my forsaken heart, would you please show that you care more in lieu of less?'
Sinking to the floor, cracked as to pour their vain—emptiness.
Leaves soon began to fall,
And, so did autumn; as they befall.
'The tone of your voice had ceased its melody; did you merely—halted your attunement to our song?'
'O love so gentle, when did it felt so wrong?'
The chills of past, hath frozen to berg,
Foregone morrows; to let it abide in its haven of burg.
'The air is sharp and cold,
so too, your words piercing this flaming heart so bold.'
Laughter's gone by, so did came those haunted, pain filled eyes; they sighed.
Buried, in a cold winter—night, losing recollections that already died.
'To my dearest, would you have held my hand, if you've known that it will be this one last time?'
'When did love ever felt like a sinful crime?'
So, therefore, take the present time,
With a cold bitter lime.
For love is crowned with the prime,
'The melody of love we could never rhyme.'
—Hofia | Seasons
