Seasons ;

Another- slightly more sombre- sonnet!

Verbal words can be stammered, typed messages cannot convey,

The twist of nerves and the surge of glee

whenever I glanced his way,

like a cage of butterflies set free.

Hair a darker shade than night,

Eyes paler than untouched snow,

that shone impossibly bright,

like a beacon, calling me to his glow.

The innocence of spring vibrates strong,

the warmth of summer held in his gaze

that made me belong,

with the promise of autumn’s haze.

He is the seasons, which means we cannot be,

For he loves another, and does not think of me.


2 thoughts on “Seasons ;

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