How quickly August slips into September.
I remember how the Spring
Was full of birdsong
And opening flowers.
In December
I remember
Long spring hours
And birdsong.
How quickly August slips into September.
I remember how the Spring
Was full of birdsong
And opening flowers.
In December
I remember
Long spring hours
And birdsong.
I recall honeysuckle on a wall
And the scent of Grandfather’s roses.
The poet composes
A rhyme
To Time
Who ends all.