Shadows of a Season Passing

Bare limbs and bird song…
The sun finds gold in newly fallen snow;
another week of freeze until  February.

The lore of a groundhog is a grand distraction.
We feast on the fruit of our labors. No need
to rue the withered bloom; spring will come again.

Treasons, tensions, masquerades;
seasons pass.  Each must take the litmus test;
how much difference will it make

a hundred years from now?
Priorities evolve, dissolve; trends change.
Pray we pick our battles wisely.

4 thoughts on “Shadows of a Season Passing

  1. BoardFlak

    We are what we fight for; at least that’s how the world sees us. Sometimes, when we forbear tilting at a windmill, the world can get the wrong impression; but we know the difference and that’s what counts.

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