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In
the cycle of nature
for
mankind there is no eternity
but
one life to nurture,
one
shot at felicity.
Spring
fresh and green
is
the season of endless promise,
much
time, many a dream,
into
life we go with ease.
Then
the Summer activity,
busy
with energy tending our own,
blinded
in productivity,
is
over before we know.
With
the empty nest
the
Fall brings the agony of doubt.
Did
I live to my best?
Time
is running out!
It
was then you came,
sweet
illusion of a second chance,
and
I, too willing to trade
numb
reality for a dance.
One
day you were gone,
as
I always knew you would go,
but
I did not know
I
would miss you so.
The
cold ahead is scary
but
without you I face my Winter
warm
in sweet memory
of
that Indian Summer.
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