I hear the summer sun,
its gentle hum,
delicately bringing warmth.
I hear the slow
laid back breeze, rise then fall.
I feel the call of love,
and I see her in future dreams.
Scrapbook photographs, yet to be seen.
These snapshots not yet faded,
instant memories.
These dreams are lived
wide awake it seems.
I hear the leaves crisp
crack, underfoot,
like a snapped oak
and a scratched back.
When you took my heart into your hands,
and squeezed it, until it was just sap,
like plasticine flowers between fingers.
I hear the oozing sound of rivers
and the loving softness lingers
as you brush away autumn
and welcome the winter
to come and stay.
I hear the glistening snow start to fall,
A twinkling percussion of crystal.
calls out over the crunchy bass,
Footstep tales of our snow covered
escapades.
Those frost covered hillsides,
the glistening shine of ice-covered rivers
and the stillness of wintertime.
I hear the saplings sing
a growing tune for us.
The roots deep in the dust,
reverberating a rhythm underfoot.
I watch as the plants
sway side to side,
dancing in perfect time.
Their voices blending.
Harmonic and wide,
across the planet,
the lush green countryside,
its tunes sprung in eventide.
I hear the seasons of love,
I see wonders
I witness the passing of time
and I aimlessly search
these streets of mine.
Trying to remember where I left
that first kiss, where I held that hand
the last time.
Where the days became memories painted
on yellow tinged pages,
when the memories became
so distant they were mere recollections.
Reflections seen
in shimmery waters, and on icy rivers,
glimpses, glanced at those torn worn pictures.
I try to hear the seasons,
but I'm deafened by time it seems.
Thanks for reading
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