The Seasons

The Seasons
sound their silent bells
before time

Cold rain
washing the dry
dust, off the reluctant trees

Wet dogs and dripping
cats huddle like
shipwrecked survivors
under lonely park benches

The sulking sun
suddenly steps out
to create
god’s seventh hope


Fresh snow
falling in wintry waves
covering everything
with a pregnant hush

Hollow footsteps
melting into strange shapes
reminding me of my thoughts
on a cold Sunday morning

Closed sounds, grey feelings
Winter rising


Brilliant sunshine
seeping through my cold skin
like my lover’s smile

A rush of warmth
as my bones bask
in the golden glow
of life awakening