The year turns
Another twelve months gone.
Another year older
Whether you’re seven or seventy.
Winter’s cold fingers
Touch your soul.
Spring’s gentle fingers
Nudge the gardens early shoots sunward
Summers hot fingers scorch the land,
But hurries the harvest into the barns.
Autumn’s tired fingers
Gently strips the trees of life
The year turns
Another twelve months gone.
November 2003
Year
