In the clutches of winter’s cold death grips
Memories of spring fade a million miles hence
Where snow lingers and the soul writhes and slips
So deep and dark that all form seems pretense

Utter silence consumes the primal void
Gnawing at the innards seeps in despairs
Rest here forever broken and destroyed
Sight missing the light in darkness that snares

The horizon holds a spring never seen
Four seasons, four loves, infinite seasons
Infinite loves, past before having been
Capricious, cycling, nearing completions

Summer stole, fall took, winter faded cold
But in cycling, many springs lie untold

-V.R. Bacot-Davis 来伝

For Naomi


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