For Jennifer,
And for us,
It's all seasons
That go round and round,
Without reasons,
Why new souls are found,
Peeping and amazed.

(Spring)
Little they are,
The flowers and eyes.
They open everywhere
The heart looks.
They open again and again
And wider and wilder
And all is new
And growing
And life
Fills them to giddy bursting.
Blossoms and young eyes.

(Summer)
Bright, full and joy-filled
Dizzy and dancing in the sun
They seek its heat
Yet know the cold
Of the pale moon night.
They open and close
And have and lose
And laugh, but less
And less is new.
They reach their peaks
And growing slows
And slowness grows for
Flowers and eyes.

(Fall)
The passioned heat shimmers away
In shorter days and deeper nights
The coolness comes, and sharper senses.
They wake from the sun-drugged dream
The eyes and flowers
Refreshed by dew showers, but
Saddened and shrinking
From the hint of a coming end.

The full and moist become dry and brittle
And sag and shrivel
And wither
And wait.
Tears and seeds.

(Winter)
The huddled ghosts of warmth
Are sucked away
By quick harsh winds
That howl and whistle
And rush the dead
To a distant darkness.
Uncaring winds snap
Brittle stems
And pull tears from eyes.

They are lost and they lose,
They are closed,
Never to open,
And dry, those
Flowers and eyes.

(Spring)