There are glimpses of
gold when
your shades are
rose-tinted
and when
the sting
of the past
is a feeling that's
       fading

and the thought of
next winter's
from mildew to
Emerald
and December's
devil
is
no longer
haunting

When there are curtains
of gold to be
draped all around
and suddenly sadness
is a song, not a
sound

and somewhere hums a
hope that
there's more we
can't see

there's a casket of
petals where
grief used to be