Our Memories, as the Seasons, in our Minds
Memories hold a key to the lock box of our minds,
The fond, the unhappy, or times of glee,
The seasons may come, and then each to go on,
as the years of our lives, are so meant to be.
Every pure soul, in youth or as old, in this feat,
and with all, in its uncertainty, their role, as sweet,
At birth we all begin, in our journeys, each so attends,
to weather life's storms, and then, later, make amends.
The Spring of our life's time, may start this fine rhyme,
in its cadence and rhythm, with all to flow,
The flowering blooms, as brides with their grooms,
join wild bird's songs and in each, their's so glow,
The brightness and joy, all serves and does employ,
the pleasures in our senses of the sublime,
In a shallow April's rains, there, small puddles we retain,
in storing the light thoughts and of our time.
Summer showers do pour down, amid a blustering sound,
in lightning's flash and of the thunder's refrain,
A deepening of the pond and some memories, not as fond,
a mix of our mirth and some to feel, of such pain.
The Summers of our lives, as each so survives,
when our minds to marvel, in the warming of days,
A time so perplexing, and of the trials, all so vexing,
tribulations faced by each one then, in many ways.
The Autumn of our minds, is a time, when all refines,
every memory, in images, fine, and with no regrets,
The maturing moments of life, that each may live,
A sparkling stream, colors to give, and the rush, it lets.
As bright foliage, the leaves to fall, as do the barriers, all,
the bridges and scenes, in minds we then may retain.
The wild, and in each's call, a freedom, of the big and small,
have choices, in the decisions, and not having to explain.
The coming Winter winds to howl and in white snows, so foul,
do permeate the vastness in thoughts, to be conceived.
The frozen lakes, and icy air, though masked in our despair,
the fondest of memories, can still be retrieved.
The Seasons within our mind, in the thoughts of every kind,
reflect the times and our relation to it all,
Every kind deed that we have done, and in the nature of each one,
a special meaning, not to matter, in just how small.
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