Seasons

You are Spring,
and I, the Fall,
moving inexorably
into Winter’s cold...
And yet, love has come
again for me...
How I long to feel,
for just one day,
Summer’s heat,
meeting half-way
between your verdant world,
and my barren one.

Like Don Quixote,
I find myself tilting
against windmills in my mind;
seeking both resurrection
and redemption;
finding only
emptiness and air.
Silence is the sign–
my Holy Grail–
that we will be apart.

The long season
that separates our lives
cannot be breached...
So, I drift slowly
into night...
with welcome knowledge
that your fertile times
are still ahead.
Spring’s proliferation
brings an end
to Winter’s dismal damp.

When you come
to your own Fall,
and think about
those happy times
before–remember–
that another loved you then;
and, though he could not
change the seasons;
it was Spring
within his heart.

by Richard Elam

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