Were the days that men would fight and women would love—
Secretly keeping a leather bound locket deep inside their being.
These days it’s found as quite a chore
To find victory where those wish only to spread the word of the dove—
Sweeping swiftly through the crisp winter wind where freedom is found leaving.
Then comes the days of Spring to open a door
One with an arch hiding high above—
Not in fear but rather in spite of the darkness of seeing.
The summer chill finds brisk wings in this library of lore
Where there are books stacked brief that speak thereof—
Reading of this is not notably described in times of grieving.
Onto the days near end, the birds shall soar
The arch and the books stacked just as high as each other before
And all those who watch as the dew drops fade into the bleak afternoon—
Know just what has happened, for all of the people can see the tulips that grow
Our near the pond.
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Hope you liked it. Any comments are nice.
