Like wilted petals we will sit, and grieve
golden summers gone, and childhoods lost
a blanket of relentless frost.
tears are fruitless, weeping is naïve:
is a trickster – he will always thieve
precious, fleeting moments when star-cross'd
lovers meet in bowers; when the cost
counted in the passions we achieve.
spring returns, and summer's rainbow haze
spread across familiar fields once more,
grinning Time grants us a few more days
heal our hurts, and mend what went before.
wheel rolls on, it clears the path anew;
wheel rolls on, and we roll with it too.