Come spring, she loves and hopes, words tripping off her tongue like sonnets.
Come summer, her smile lights skies. Melodic tones drift as she does, skipping at her heels.
Come autumn, she is content. Memories consume her; could anything be so real as this?
Come winter, and she is tired. Alone yet dependent, she can't wait to get back to rest
and not return.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
Come spring, she loves and hopes, words tripping off her tongue like sonnets.
Come summer, her smile lights skies. Melodic tones drift as she does, skipping at her heels.
Come autumn, she is content. Memories consume her; could anything be so real as this?
Come winter, and she is tired. Alone yet dependent, she can't wait to get back to rest
and not return.
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