A Better Year and A Better Way

When all the days we had were ever young,
We strode content into the morning bliss of spring
Never heeding cautiousness or care.
But all too soon, uncertain shadows shifted clouds before our eyes,
Pale summer left us then, like thistle down
Blown on the moving arc of the winded year.
A chill invaded our bones, stirring mortality in the sinew.
Autumn gilded bronze-leaved beauty for a time,
As yellow harvests scented the valley floor.
Red-stained berries hung, heavy in the smoky air,
As Cobwebs spun before the rain.
Birds wheeled and cried, then departed in pre-ordained patterns
Perhaps to return, but never to remain.
Winter dawn, pale as milk, arrived in sad dank whispers,
Bleeding colour from a tired earth
That etched its’ face in monochrome lines of charcoal grey.
We sang ourselves into long quiet sleep,
And hoped against hope for a better year
And a better way.