
Oh, the ores of autumn,
The rains of spring,
Tempest the harvest,
True love May brings.
And each pedal blossoms,
From one shaded tear,
Let loose from June,
Let loose from fear,
And September's moon,
Grows into the sun,
Grows up with Time's child,
Change. To be done.
You're like Wordsworth in the making.
ReplyDeleteCertainly not an overstatement.