Seasonal ruminations

Fickle humans with our love

Condemning nature from above

We sit beneath such beauteous trees

Yet they cannot begin to please

We watch each spiral up anew

And knowing full well what they do

Bemoan the crackles of burnished leaves

Until from their branches life is cleaved

For moments all we find is hate

Affections always come too late

Oh fickle things with fleeting hearts

Do not care of the worldly arts

Spring may flourish yet soon we feel

Some greater sun should be ideal

And come the summer we devour

The light until it burns the flowers

Autumn may bring crisp new bliss

But far too much gloom for our wish

And winter brings a blackened stem

On which we wait for life’s rebirth again

We cannot find peace in the world

For it has the bleakness of ourselves

And in its moments with beauty assured

The beauty, my old friend, is yours

Of moments with the dew-lit flowers

Where sheep bleat brightly in the bowers

When light sheds us a golden cloak

We watch its rays drift down like smoke

And when the mists of harvest reign

We smile at cool winds again

And even in fresh ice of cold

We find some beauty to behold

Good and bad are in our nature

Have we the power to create her?

Our world is but an empty slate

On which our minds but do create