In summer, we fry
In winter, we freeze
In autumn, all withers & dies
But, spring resurrects us,
Nurtures, protects us,
And Nature bursts forth & thrives'
*
Or, so it's said? In fact, our endless, not-
Unnumbered days, so full of empty life,
Belie a linear progress to a goal
Of settled joy when all is change? The whole
Thing creaks & stinks, winds down & up, pretends
It is perpetual motion? All we've got,
Though, married like unhappy man & wife,
Are entropy's plans for us & its own ends?
*
Yet, not much more can we expect of flux?
To call them 'seasons' dignifies the days
In which we crawl from one false state to nowhere,
Falling back or springing forward? It sucks
To see improvement, as it isn't? Phase
On phase on phase...well, no, just don't go there?
*
So, 'Nature bursts forth & thrives'-
But we do not!
Seasons connive & contrive
To prevent us our lot!
Spring doesn't do it for me,
I'm afraid, which is sad..
L. A. Barron
[24/9/2019]
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