Seasons Poem by Sean Tyacke

Spring is our unfolding, when beauty lies concealed
Though love is innocent, her truth shall be revealed.

Summer is our joy, the ripening of our soul
When love can triumph, over power, or greed or gold

Autumn is our reward, the harvest of our days,
Though love may tire, still she finds a way.

Winter is our demise, gilding us with frost,
Love she is ended, and all her gains are lost.

© Sean R Tyacke,1991