Summer hides inside
The spring.
Yet I find
That winter is not far behind,
For when the cold wind
Does blow,
On a spring day
I know
That each season passeth away.
Though, Winter’s snow may stay
For a cold spring day.
Whilst the late summer sun
Says, “autumn will come”.
I
Saw carefree spring kiss
Winter goodbye.
And I
Found bliss
Midst newly opened flowers
That time devours.
I saw summer hot
Take the spring,
But cared not
For I
Was still in love with spring.
I saw autumn come,
With her gentle sun
And knew my hours
Midst sweet flowers
Must fade away.
Now, on a winter’s day
I think on the flower’s bloom
Which is, so soon
Gone,
And on my grey hair,
And I wonder where,
The carefree, spring has gone.
Shall spring flowers stay
To play
With a gray
Winter’s day?
Some say
Nay
Flowers gay
Will not stay
For a gray
Winter’s day.
Yet I shall be bold
And venture to say
That gold
Is a powerful aphrodisiac
Which the poor man does lack
And which may
Smooth the way
For a gray
Winter’s day
To play
With spring flowers gay.
It is cold.
Should I be bold
And go outside?
Or like a tortoise, hibernate?
I can not decide.
It is late
In the year.
A thought most drear
Does take
Hold .
Not all tortoises awake
From the cold.
I pray
For a spring day.
I don’t understand those who wish that the sun would always shine,
For life is varied, and I pray that it will remain so.
When others complain
I shall go
Out in the rain
And feel alive
As they into buildings dive.
Some say the winter is drear
And huddle near
Fires that suck The oxygen away.
I can not stay
Indoors
On a cold winter’s day
But must ramble about on the moors
Or take a walk in an urban park
For the dark will come
And blot out the sun.
I am dust.
We dance in a ring
In spring
When the roses bloom
And little think on winter’s tomb.
We cavort
In the summer sun
With unstaid maid
And give but little thought
To how the deer does run
Towards the setting sun.
In autumn, when leaves fall
We recall
Life’s joys and gall
Ere winter makes a bed
For lover’s head.
Summer unlocks
Youthful passion.
Now ‘tis the fashion
For short frocks
And tiny socks.
Some girls barefoot go
For of a summer’s day,
They little know
That winter snow
Is on its way
On such a day, when the winter sun
Casts my shadow upon yonder wall,
It is difficult to recall
That all
This will, one day be done.
In future will some other one, sitting here, and seeing their shadow fall
Upon this self-same wall,
Know that they may not forestall
The night
When dancing shadows are, forever lost from sight.
—
(Written on 3 December 2016, while sitting in my study).
The death of the year
Is near.
The last day of November
Is icey cold,
I wonder, what will December
Hold?
This freezing wind
Does rescind
Summer’s delights
As winter Makes toys
Of all our joys
Leaves swish, like water
As I walk through
Them to reach the park. ‘Tis true
Autumn is still here,
Yet, I fear that winter will give no quarter,
For each season does murder it’s daughter,
Who dies not but rather sleeps
And creeps
Forth to softly kill
Her father who will
Rise once more.
As it was before
So it will remain. The perpetual cycle
Of the seasons, a vital order does bring.
Spring
Follows winter stern.
Buds return
And soon,
Come summer, flowers will bloom.
Autumn imperceptibly doth replace
Summer’s flushed face,
While the Fall’s slow decay
Whispers “winter is on his way”.
K Morris - Poet 