seasons

All that glitters is not gold
Even the sun keels over in despair
And weave an air of desolation
Amongst the wearied ones

Challenge the skies to pour
For it sprinkles too little of truth
And counts for near nothing
Till we could dance around the ironies

Run your fingers through the shadows
Without tracing the cracks on the wall
What have we left
But the skin and bones we came in

Look for the rhythm of the wind's rhapsody
Hum along and be forgotten
Like the leaves that swirl in red flames
To be trampled along men's way