Ed Ellsworth

THEN DID ALL THE SEASONS COME TO ME

Deep cold blue violet, oh how crisp the dawn
Awake to what is persevered of November
Confined in this rickety asylum
I will my heart, to muse, to remember

Choked by decayed departed shrubs
Beneath an intolerant ageless sun
Consequence crumbles my residence
Upon the heart, nature’s order has begun

To dwindle so silent, in disrepair
Faded walls, hushed to children’s play
Absent, the colorful gatherings
Now resides, the apologetic grey

Memories, oh; however faint the version
Dusty footpath, punctuated by brazen weed
Gone the pride of a flourishing lawn
Decayed by time and tainted seed

So faded are the years, since fancy was the fresh
A splash of new and garden quaint
Was then a time of adolescent potency
Clad today, in weathered skins of paint

Weep do I – as for the willow leaves,
For they flutter and dance, upon the air
Westerly steadily there swirls a breeze
Deepening a solitary stare

So wounded sweet am I
Heaves the sigh, that no one hears
In this memorable frame I am to stay
My heart, my life for countless years

Then did all the seasons come to me,
Each held in close order and full length
Passion inspired recalled from memory
In doing, crafted there the strength

Last chevrons of geese, well-timed take flight
Through the frozen air, my ardent heart does yearn:
Grateful with each breath, I take such delight
Preordained with their everlasting return