Twenty-five years ago
Upon the cold driven snow
I dreamt of future days
Of us in a summer haze
Seasons were born then passed
Our weathered love didn't last
Another summer now
You're still in my head somehow
Days gone by, all grown up
Once dreamt of sipping the cup
The season brought me wisdom
Dry mouth, yet breathing freedom
In the winter of my youth
I thought that you were truth
Now in the summer of life
I'm glad you aren't my wife
This is not at all autobiographical. I actually just wrote this with the number 25, snow, summer, and the form in my head. I think it turned out ok. I hope you like it.