Looking Through Stained Glass

Seasons
Seasons


The first day of his smile
Banishing the chill of a late frost
Thus my love comes

On the dawn of the first day
of the first spring
To tend my garden, till the sacred soil
Where the silky folds of my flower blossoms
Gently, widely

As my summer sun also rises
When he gazes past the twin hills
To the valley beyond
Offering the sweetest of nectars
Thus my love comes

To reap that which was so deeply sown
On a harvest moon divine
The fruit of his labor stretched out
Across a starlit ravine
Call him yet home again
Thus my love comes

On the last sunset of the last day
of the last fall

Stoking the hearth warmth
And we rest
The seventh day of my smile

 

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