As Fall sheds its leaves upon the ground,
The whispers of lost love and dreams resound.
From branches high, where once they dared to soar,
Now fall to earth, their heights admired no more.
For life, a cycle spun by nature’s art,
Begins with hope, then tears each dream apart.
At first, love blossoms, vivid, sweet, and bright,
Its splendor dazzling all who catch its sight.
But petals tire of endless praise and cheer,
Neglected, they succumb to time severe.
Once cherished blooms lie trampled, left for dead,
A ruin crushed beneath unfeeling tread.
Thus, life revolves, with seasons in its clasp—
Some days we soar; some, loneliness we grasp.
For love, like nature, follows such a way:
It thrives, then fades, then withers to decay.
In spring, love’s magic takes us by surprise,
A dreamland built of laughter, daring skies.
Each meeting sparks with courage, hearts align,
And faults are blind, the world appears divine.
But summer comes, and warmth begins to wane,
The heat of habit cools, replaced by strain.
What once seemed boundless, vibrant, full of glow,
Turns into drought, where love begins to slow.
Then autumn’s storms arise with winds that wail,
And shake weak bonds, exposing what is frail.
The shallow ties fall swiftly to the ground,
While rooted hearts endure the harshest round.
In winter’s frost, relationships stand still,
Cold silence reigns, or warmth can break the chill.
For some, a frozen stasis marks the end,
For others, safety, where two hearts defend.
Thus, seasons mark the fate of bonds we weave,
And test what stays, what we must grieve.
The strong endure, though trials may unfold;
The weak dissolve, as love grows faint and cold.