cycle

the summer is winding down

the winding path towards autumn

she is falling into those strong arms

once again

so soon to disappear

so soon to bury her face

in the colours of dying leaves

she always leaves

what feels like always

too soon

too soon

and autumn ascends

but inevitably weakens

into winter

whose withering rule

will last but for a while

until the hard ground cracks

and spring’s harbinger

breaks forth like a tear

from up out of deep darkness