The seasons change yet I do not
I watch leaves fall, consume, and rot
The trees themselves soon sprout anew
Prettier things than me and you
Springing forward, falling back
Bathed in white and then swept with black
By the time the sun had set and night arose
The wicked reaped what they had sowed
Yet idly I watch from my window seat
The glass being the curve of my eyes
And I'm left to wonder why
My misery grows and grows
"Love" the morning doves whisper
"Shall lift your heart"
And to them I shake my head and answer
"It only serves to tear it apart"
Where the four letter word once settled
On the light pink tinge of my lips
I fi