They come and go,
like empty greetings
and rising tides.
They influence the way you walk,
the way you see the world,
even the way that you look;
and you're so willing to obey.
They are rebirth and death -
beauty,
and whatever you call
frozen piles of dirt.
They are the bliss of the sun,
the bite of a blizzard,
the glow of a fire,
and the innocence of morning dew.
Though you clench to the moment,
though they tell you that things are changing,
you always depress
once the colors begin to fade.
You may have a favorite,
but no amount of love or devotion
can freeze the calendar in time;
so Summer becomes Autumn,
Winter becomes Spring,
and all you can hope for
is a roof over your head -
- and even those come and go.
