Dip my quil in ink again,
As a new cycle begins,
It's not the beginning or the end.
Always we have fields to tend.
Maybe then my heart will mend,
Why I continue to pretend.
Only hours gone by can seem to comprehend,
How my life can take such a sudden end.
Yet, I find without Misery,
We make no History.
Though the day may be snowy,
And the grounds firm with ICE,
And your till is consistent of persistence and might..
Remember that winter leads way to summer
And summer to fall.
And that the seasons of Change,
Affect us all.
About the Creator
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A Few Moments More
You’ll give it one more minute, and then you’re headed back inside. It’s pretty chilly out, after all. Not that that’s a real issue - you’ve stood out here for longer, and in colder weather. The snow is nearly gone already; tiny, dirt-stained islands of the stuff form a shrinking archipelago dotting the sea of green that is your backyard. Striations of sunlight dance through the trees at the edge of the woods and paint the scene in a camouflage of brown, green, and gold.
By Gabriel Huizenga5 days ago in Fiction
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