The Fifth Season

Cloud bellies

scudding along,


heavy with snow.

Blocking the Sun,

threatening more.

Like retaliation,

for the Summer’s warmth.


Your heart,

your hands,

are softer, now.

Long, gentle breeze

blows through the town.

The crows and ravens

gather around;


how they are found.


The geese have been

seen returning up

to our neck of

the woods, as such

and afternoon sun

melts the snow,

but we have far to go.


Sitting here,

just hold your hand.

Our plans on hold,

we understand;


in the land,

from show to mud,

from mud to sand.


Each day we wake

and watch those clouds;

fat cherubim,

still hang around.

Our patience long,

our love is strong.

We wait for Spring,

’til Winter’s gone.


I hold your hand,

the world moves on.

I’d never rush

this time along.


HG – 2018

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