Forever Fleeting

Now summer's song has come and gone;
autumn's chill is hasting.
At winter's door we hunger for
something everlasting.

Oh, do not sing of fleeting things
like flowers, stars or love
that cause the heart and mind's depart
from prudency thereof.

Blooms exquisite and delicate
as maidens' youth will show
their spiteful ruse when their bright hues
shall wither with the snow.

Deceptive light of stars--so bright!--
that glitter in the sky;
on Earth we yearn for that which burns,
yet in their burning, die.

And love bears strife all throughout life
and ailments of the breath.
Yet should it live, all that it gives
shall surely cease with death.

Then what fiction in its diction
enduringly explores?
Is there a tale that will prevail
to tell of evermore?

Perhaps my song is sorely wrong
and we are meant to see
ordained duty of brief beauty
and there, eternity.

Then all hours I'll chance flowers,
conceding stars to move
my simple soul to be so bold
to wager upon love.