Our Winter settles in,
rests on stone park benches
In warm cups of coffee
breathing steam into the night
Our Autumn has gone
the last fires left glowing
as the coals turn cold
on another sunset Samhain
Adolescent Summer’s shrug
lumbers past winter’s chill
remembering, and waiting
for the sun again to crest the hills
Little Spring is being sheered
of mushrooms, fallen trees
wrapped in turtlenecks of
moss and snow, asleep
How many more family portraits can we take?
Before little spring will always be summer,
and our Winter & Autumn, uncared for
will fade to outdoor memories.
When they no longer rear their heads,
and we will tell our children
“This is what your family was
but your family is now dead.”
