The Seasons (Of love and loss)

The heavy thoughts
Weighted limbs,
Like Christmas trees
Bending below the burden
Of gaudy baubles -
The things we bought
For a season
Packed away and
Quickly forgot.

Well, where does the
Winter go, and all the snow
When the sun shines
And springs winds
Blow in on thunderheads?
Once it melts, while fields
Grow dandelion pelts, it
Trickles down into graves,
Winter past is water for the
Things we let die away.

Beltane fires burn like
Funeral pyres, in the eyes
Of young men slipping down
Sunset streets - the girls cruising
In crappy cars, lip balm bright
Shimmer on the asphalt as
Day dies steadily into night.
Youth, these days, has
Nowhere to be; and the
Suburban bloom bleeds
Into childhood's tomb.

And when the shroud is gold,
Men begin to wrap themselves
In light coats, half dreading
The turning of time, half anxious
To plunge into the slower seasons.
They think of lovers lost like leaves
Which fall down anonymous paths,
Shed by their bored trees,
Amorous and ready for new outfit -
Downy white dresses and crystal
Coats,  the garb of seasons much
Like hearts goes from warm to cold.