Friday, November 6, 2009

A season for everything.

The days we spoke
grew few and far between.

Summer past,
and Autumn fell.
A discontent grew,
where once all was well.

Pomegranates ripened,
coloured of a lover's blood,
an empty doorstep,
where your soul once stood.

Now seasons dwindle,
I can only bereave,
Such as trees must,
when they lose their leaves.

No comments: