Running down the slopes of life’s valley
Toward demise, weary Autumn
From upon the slopes of Spring
Visible are tulips
Bright, cruel wistful sky
Baking stony gravel pathways
Leading between the fields
In my father’s acres
Becomes Summer
As Winter fades to memory, each blinding moment
Escapes my eyes in fugue
Relinquished
Replaced
By pastel eggs and rebirth
Torrid are the seconds
The minutes that bind us
But as one we struggle for release