The Seasons
Walter Crane (1845-1915) The Masque of the Four Seasons
We
are but dreams. Our
children walk the sun-kissed land,
honey on their lips.
***
The shimmering earth
beckons, ripe and languorous;
fire at its heart.
***
Your tear-speckled eyes
Capture the slate-coloured skies.
Soon, the rain will fall.
***
Shivering trees stoop,
naked in the leaden air.
The year has grown old.
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