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by Judy (Wishes)
jkp@bright.net
The seasons slowly change,
And relentless winter will turn to spring,
And, standing on the verge of summer,
It will be easy to think
That the seasons are a cycle,
Repeating endlessly.
But seasons are only time,
And time is but an arrow
That travels ever onward
In one directions only.
Each season is a new one,
Not that of a year before.
Spring will recur, dear heart,
But this moment won't return.
Judy (Wishes)
