“I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.”

My Love Knows No Season

Sometimes you are the winter storms blasting brisk and frigid,
You make me turn my back to you during your frequent rages.
Nipping at me constantly in an effort to make me pull my trigger.
In my heart you possess the strength of the winter's tempestuous wrath.

In the spring your the tease that blows impassioned then chilly.
You bring me insight to what will soon germinate then elongate.
You shower me with inspiration, handing me the seeds of expectancy.
In my heart you are the promise of springs’ variable anticipation.

Summer is the warmth you bring, the lazy days we rock and sing.
Held close are the labors of love that we generate agreeably together.
Swimming naked in the enthusiastic rivers of desires we rollick!
In my heart you are the all encompassing passions in fervent bloom.

Harvest time is by far my sanctioned season that you so decorously embody.
With your perpetually changing colors you dazzle me with your brilliance.
A conclusion to what we gain from the storms, the showers, and our revelry.
In my heart you are the autumn's bounty that furnishes me with legacy uncommon.

You are all the seasons to my heart, the cold, the rain, the heat, and the riches.
The uncertainty, the constancy, the calamity and the blissfulness of the calmness.
How could you reflect that I only love you for the warmth of the fleeting summer?
There are not sufficient seasons in the year to contrast to the love that you enliven.


March 05

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