The seasons change with
The passing winds which
Float through the hollow
Recesses and caverns of time.
They come and go without a thought,
For their destinies are set
Before them, seldom changing.
Yet, love is never certain
And cannot be trusted to
Follow any pre-determined course.
Love itself is but a gentle breeze
Which cannot be contained
Or confined to the limits
Of any man’s hopes or dreams.
Dec. 24, 1980
© 2010 – 2011, Steven R. Drennon. All rights reserved.