Friday, March 16, 2012

Spring of 29

If you want to cry
you can weep for the season
because every season dies
Buried and unearthed by the changing sun

Not fair and pretty
is the spring of Spring
and the fall of Fall
Hearts that beat but are breaking

We are disguised by the freedom of night
acclaimed by Summer's rendition of discipline
The few hours spent worshiping the day
make light hearts set against darkening skin

There is no Winter in the beginning of Spring
Only thin dresses twirling on Sunday's breeze
Skirting the weight of the world, humming
time slips by without worry

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