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Seasons


In daybreaks anew I am one with the sun,
as it is one with me,
and all endeavors I purposely choose,
notwithstanding when weather disagrees,
by mid-seasons end it will shine no more,
as heat and exhaustion have taken its toll,
my relation hardens as bitterness looms,
still angry for smoldering days of old,
but when it is gone nothing more remains,
prisoner of air seeming icicle cold,
my love of sun goes south upon return,
bringing days of index boiling to steam,
when I plee for the icicles once much loathed,
never cold or hot enough, or cold enough it seems,
by own admission I am selfish to Earth,
quiffs in all seasons to imminently complain,
being human I aquired this bratness from birth,
though in spirit, all of nature and soul is retained.

Written by Blackwolf

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