At a walking pace,
the waves gently sway,
a cat naps in her cradle
above a restful lake.
The flowers happily bloom,
the swans open their wings,
to welcome the summer days,
when the air coruscates.
Yet my days are overcast,
for none but the lonely heart,
for the darkest shadows are,
by all other shadows marred.
My heart longs for winter,
when the shy roads are draped
in a shimmering furry coat,
beneath a silent black cloak.
In the mist I see,
a hand skipping to the summer romance,
lost in the overhasty wind,
never arriving at a cadence.
Fazed at this dissonance
with no intention of taking leave,
drowning in the shimmering fire
that seems almost immortal.
Unreflective is this mirror,
banished from his trance,
in this summer mist,
where the heart plays chance.
The long days are divided,
with light taking her side,
yet for the night I long,
when muses would bring my bride.
Art! The calling from a soul
who murmurs from afar,
leaving this spiritless ghoul
atop a spellbinding cart.
In this wasteland,
I trudge my way forth,
fighting my mortal self,
who had left spring behind.
