The Seasons

Over the last couple of days it certainly has felt as though winter is well and truly on his way.

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Leaves swish, like water
As I walk through
Them to reach the park. ‘Tis true
Autumn is still here,
Yet, I fear that winter will give no quarter,
For each season does murder it’s daughter,
Who dies not but rather sleeps
And creeps
Forth to softly kill
Her father who will
Rise once more.

As it was before
So it will remain. The perpetual cycle
Of the seasons, a vital order does brin...