Seasons of my heart are forever now
Yet, forever changing,
They pass like wind
Through leaves that gently fall.
They flutter to the ground, and stay
While winds blow them all away,
They rest upon the earth so cold
For they do not, nor will grow old.
They pass me by, yet stay with me
Time given, is not long,
They stay awhile, and bring a smile
Then wither, and they're gone.
Like grass that sways upon the hill
They bend with time, but stand so still,
The seasons change, but not my heart
Their movement, caught in time.
Rusty Blackwood.
Copyright 2002-09.
~ This poem was inspired by a childhood memory.
At the far back of a wind swept bean field stood
the side-hill on my grandpa's farm. Below this
rocky, over-grown hill with its assorted weeds,
clover, and straw-like grass, was found the flats
land which led to a meandering river. As a child
I spent many afternoons upon this hill, rolling,
exploring what could be found within, and just
laying in the grass, watching the birds soar
overhead, and the clouds travel quickly. I loved
this place. It was a time of innocence--a time I
thought, like the hill itself, would never change. ~
R.B.