Fields turn flowerless
As plants turn powerless
Against the winter cold.
At only three seasons old
Do their stems start to fold,
Heads droop and begin
To wither.
Within
Me
Seems to be
Something similar–
Perhaps I’ll look good for a while
But the smiles
Start to fade
With too little sun
And too much shade.
So I hope knowing me for one
School year’s
Enough– I fear
December’s
Round the corner. Remember
Me at my brightest,
When my roots were strong
And my thoughts felt lightest.
For I long
For your company
But Fate’s decided we
Simply aren’t meant to be.
The storm’s coming around.
This side of me should not be found.