Silver threads that weave
among the brown,
Show the sign that
summer’s gone,
And the ruts left by the
storms…
Seen now … in the
furrowed frown.
Slower now the gait that
ran
When spring was here and
spirit free,
But it is now approaching
winter…
This season sees’ the
bent down tree.
Memories linger of birds
that left,
But seeing now an empty
nest,
Hearing still the songs
that rang,
Throughout the summer
when life was best.
When silver threads turn
to white,
And the final season
comes’ too fast...
Then is found the hope of
spring,
While letting go the
seasons past.
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