In the summer of my discontent
You stood against the sun,
Casting a shadow darker than a midnight doorway,
And I fell inside.
In the autumn of my yearning
You walked among the spectral trees,
Like the wake of the Medusa,
And our hands entwined.
In the winter of my hope
You lay in the snow
As stars melted the night
And kept us warm.
In the spring of my quietude
You murmured of blue-grey shores
Where cherry blossoms fell eternally
And I lost you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Initial phrase shamelessly stolen and inverted from Richard III. The rest is my own.
