Seasons

When I was a young man the coming of the end of winter summoned the warrior in me.

Time passed, tears paved paths,

These hands, once thirsting vengeance, now caress the wounds.

As summer’s tail slothfully slithers towards its steaming den,

Behold, the artist is awakened.

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About robin

...writer, lover, fellow, man; divinely adrift in a sea of inarguable genius and intellectual nuisance. Read@ robinejohnson.wordpress.com Like@ facebook.com/storiesbyrobin and as always, peace, love—and think! View all posts by robin

2 responses to “Seasons

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