The Fleeting Beauty Of The Four Seasons Poem by DM W

O I read the sacred book of the birds!
I trace the patterns of their songs and flight,
When summer has rendered reason absurd.
In winter, snowflakes turn under moonlight,
Into falling stars. In autumn, I hear
The wind's secrets whispering in the trees.
In spring, even through older bones, I feel
The vital, blood-wine flow, like bold new dreams.
The seasons come and they go, sometimes fast,
And sometimes slow. Yet their golden moments
Never last. Time future becomes Time past.
Yet we can still focus on Time present,
And try and capture its fleeting beauty,
Before we sink into the Final Sleep.