You've got to be a collection of seasons
Nothing else falls
Springs
or shines like summer

You have been cold
Not like winter
Cold like media reported deaths
without justice, just destruction

I have hung my head low for you
Like October branches
Given you the pleasure of seeing me fall
Like leaves

Where is the water hole
My tears won’t help Mays flowers grow
Their pedals will wilt
Under the pressure of my confident incapability

Mistake not my expression for hate
You have given me the gift of words
Everyday this month
Tomorrow I will give them back to you silently

It isn't wise to keep things that can't be kept
No one bottles the sun
or wraps the wind
or expects flowers to live after being plucked from the ground

You have made me press pen to paper
Keys to keyboard
To tell the story
Not of how we met but how we prolonged a very necessary  goodbye