Lusty, the time of youth when silence is song,
song is silence– it’s inseparable
and consciousness is as bold as brass;
who cares to think then about autumn?
Its season alternating hot days and cool nights.
Teasingly, summer arrives clad in strawberry-red
faces death by a thousand conversations;
who thinks then to prepare for winter?
Its moral raising its head late in the year.
To culminate, human seasons are as continuum
they carry on, maturing over the decades;
I adore the positioning of the atoms of time
it’s against our nature to let things by
but we step aside when they reach the brimming edge.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Poem inspired by the title of Keats poetic masterpiece,
“The Human Seasons.”
Posted for “Play It Again” @ Real Toads
Posted for the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United