Meadows
Green fields of summer:
Rest by the stream
dream of the gone days
when we kissed in the sun
and at night by the fires
with desire overcome.
Envision those gone days
when life fed the young.
Green fields of autumn:
Rake the dried leaves
grieve for the gone days
when falsehoods were spun
and the fires smoldered
for the mist had begun.
Recall smoky memories
of things left undone.
Green fields of winter:
Rock in your chair
stare at the gone days
with eyes nearly done
as the smoke and the fires
burnt out one by one.
Cling to the gone days
when we kissed in the sun.
Greenfields of springtime:
Replete with sad sprays
placed where the days
of summer have gone.