Seasons of the Years
Anne N. Igma
The leaves are falling from the trees, like rain.
A rain of gold and amber mocks our age.
In spring our love was fresh, immune to pain.
We laughed and loved, like actors on a stage,
But now I sit and watch the time go by;
Too old to run and play at hide and seek,
I wait for nothing new for now, but die.
The death of youth makes tears run down my cheek.
I dream of days before and sit alone,
Alone with you, I see the past so clear,
The hugs and kisses warmed my skin and bones --
Those memories I always held so dear.
We write the epitaph of years ago,
We used to wonder why; but now we know.
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