Seasons

These days they call

the Autumn of years,

are really no different

to those which would be

 

called a Summer or a

Spring, or even a Winter,

for, like the seasons, there

is the constant hold of our

 

being, and the changing

costumes, picked up each

day, dropped at night, found

again, and worn in different

 

ways. Through all the seasons,

earth, sky, tree remain as them

selves, but dressed in varying

ways, which give the feeling

 

that they are not the same, and

yet, of course they are, in essence

and form, the same as they have

always been. As are we ….

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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