on a gust of cold you turn a shoulder
a mist of breezes comes upon your fairest eyes,
my word becomes a burden upon,
thy order all arranged, your grown taller,
if I no longer measure up, nor
eternal summer no longer is,
my red is crimson,
in beautiful golden dusks of orbs
once set for me. A fire dims glows but
dies knowing; I will stand and breathe
remember what I had, I promise,
to never brag nor dread for
I have memories..