Seasons In The Sun

Another season unfolds

Fresh mown grass

Wild onions of senses hold.

Sounds like memories ever softly test.

Sounds like that unto which a song bird sings

Upon this comes now another season lain to rest-

A new season born; an old season buried far-

beneath the dark sinking from a lifetime of dreams.

For low hangs now the new season’s bright sun.

Stippling of light on a cool forest floor does run.

With a warming of the earth comes now the smell of decay.

Regeneration rises from death to usher in the new day.

These thoughts climb now upon the morning beams of night dreams.

Chasing forgotten patterns; stealing of tomorrow new ones.

Come now another day, rise up now in this moment another season in the sun.  

 J. Allen Wilson © 3/2/11