No illusions, no illusions, no lies, no softened truths,
no tears, no bargains, though sun shines and birds sing,
Winter is here, I know.
Once Spring danced like wild flowers in the wind,
held dew and promise and wore the colors of her heart like jewels
She hadn't heard the word defeat and didn't feel hate or anger.
Spring liked to play and romp and sing and
hung her question on a tree to ripen - Why?
Summer took herself seriously, was wide-eyed with longing, sizzling in the sun.
She wore a red dress and the champagne happiness of a husband and baby
She had reckless courage because Summer is young and youth is bold,
a silver bell that rings and rings and never stops.
Too much is not enough and still that tremulous - Why?
Autumn gently smiled, like Da Vinci's lady, and danced old dances,
reminisced Begin the Beguine, stepping lightly on dry leaves.
Autumn was lined with gold and muted silks, remembered her manners,
nodded wisely, spoke sagaciously, and was a might too profound.
Haughty she was, she just knew she knew - Why?
Winter is a season content to see herself by time displaced,
knows though fleshy bonds and boundaries dissolve, Life -
like heart . . . has its reasons that reason doesn't know . . .
Sanguine and serene, it's just a habit now, that old question - Why?