Meadows

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.