Thursday, July 24

A Year

I slumbered in the summer, ducklings turned to swans.
I dreamt innocuous dreams, my love,
And now those dreams are gone.

I simmered in the autumn, when gem sparks limned the earth.
I blushed at terrible prospects, love;
Those prospects now lack mirth.

I churned all through the winter; ice thawed upon my thirst.
I watered tragic tales, my love,
And now those tales have burst.

I wept when spring skipped gaily by--I mourned the heart's defeat.
I trembled in my sorrows, love;
Those sorrows now complete.

Four seasons seem four hundred times
A thousand pains, my love.
For I now face forevermore
Without a place thereof.

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