Death Of Seasons.

Dead winter told my story of how e came to be - God, hope, faith- and love contrasted you and me: Yet, the early bird specials came up with one flaw; we both love someone who has no clue at all.

Dead spring sang a song deep to my heart, whispering words of wisdon to never fall apart: The clues and signs exist all about this world. No other one can tell me not to believe what I believe.

Dead summer broke my barrier, planning my collapse- joy over rushing inside of me, sweat beneath my lap. Lips of palish pink looked me in the eyes and the sorrow hidden deep within let out their awful disguise.

Dead fall ends this now - with words no one can hear but me. I've fallen for a man that I love oh, so deeply.
Time has yielded many times, stopping from his grace - granting me the time I need to take in every pore of his face.

And, death of the seasons . . . it sings me a lullaby. Oh how beautiful it is to notice beauty itself. With love all about the earth singing songs of glory - I sit here and wonder how on earth I deserve such wonders.