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Image for the poem SEASONS

SEASONS

 
There I stand, jilted
This Spring I am still wilted
My roots are unearthed
My leaves I’m still bereaved of
My boughs bare for next season


There I stand, lacking
This Summer I am cracking
Wind whistles through me
Children look and turn away
Under stronger ones they play


There I stand, forlorn
This Autumn I am not mourned
Their elegant hues
Those colours that adorn them
That I’ll never have again


There I stand, dying
This Winter when I’m sighing
For once I fit in
I’ll fall into the ground now
To nurture my children’s boughs
Written by UbiquitousVoid (. . . . . . . . .)
Published
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