LORD OF THE SEASONS

There be times
When the petals wither
The sleeky glassy river
Steams all up
To the patched throats of the water pots

There be times
When the sun cannot rage
And the stars are covered in blankets
When the clouds really have nothing to offer
And the desert belches

There be times
When the ink stares helplessly at the snowy sheet
And the chords no longer command the stringed notes
Then the earth stings the seeds to rot
And there be no avian piping sails

There be times
Even when the dawn needs a sip
And the crickets dishonor the reprobate night
That time money cannot buy
And terror gags power 

This be times
To laud the Lord of seasons
Not a time for the noose
It goes around and comes around
Ask the Lord of the seasons