the season's young
not yet bittersweet        
and i sit and enjoy      
the promise it sings                  
with bated breath
and an impatience
etched in my finger
here comes my rain
to wash away a sin
as old as my soul
yet still in infancy
with much to learn
so it I will nourish
while I sit and wait
here on this bench
just short of home
yet too far to walk      
here is where i stay
and here i will die