How could you leave without a fond farewell
When gentle breezes stirred the buds of spring,
And carried forth their perfumed thoughts to tell
The timid feathered songsters then to sing?
But they sang cheerless all throughout the May,
And their sad chorus echoed into June.
Nor could the summer’s sunshine chase away
The jaundiced gloom that marked a harvest moon.
All summer wore the guise of winter’s theme,
And autumn’s riches deepened my despair.
Each season came like some unwelcomed dream,
And in departing left its sadness there.
Yet though these memories still may beckon tears,
How strange the calloused hand of time endears.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.