Tell me where it is written that
Spring's in the air or birds
sing on the wing,
Oh, there.

Well,
I'll read anything and do, but
the birds flew away
and Summer
sweet Summer
stayed for a day and then went.

Autumn becomes me
with its ashen grey light shades
that
stun me
though I don't notice it much anymore.

It is the splinter of old bones
and skin hanging loose
that betray me to Winter
and Winter comes only
to slay me.

It takes twenty three seconds
to free me
and immortality beckons me
to the reckoning.

I reckon there's still time to go and
sew a few seconds more into
a life
that I lived once before,
making two and two equal five
staying alive by
my reckoning.