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Spring did arrive with April’s feathered touch
in yellow blossoms much too rich for Fall –
but waited again the burnt Summer sun,
and grieved not a moment for Winter’s pall.
In melodies written on Sparrow’s wing,
the deep blue umbrella held fast the rain –
so long that time had ceased to remember
the cool December from whence longing came.
What season left behind is ours to keep
another page of eternity sweet –
would linger still in our heart evermore,
as snowflakes melted the first Summer heat.
Were yesterday’s promise so far away –
but want for remembrance of Winter today.
. . .