Four Winters

perhaps in common

casts a wrinkle,

fragrant Reason – docile it is not

the soul of the good little dog

that guards the vital prison

from the morning.

Three Springs to love

lived buds

ready to bloom.

The tree will pick the second

in which Time

will shoot the second arrow.

Two hot summers

“sultry”, they say around.

Perhaps the eye

is for this reason so

attracted to the pot:

the ordinary,

for someone like me,

boils too soon – and

burns too late.

One Autumn for me,

perhaps for us

gather the leaves

given to you by the tree

and remember them green.

Wear a coat.

 Then decorate it with a scarf,

and some nice gloves.

 

You won’t be able to choose

which show

to applaud

before saying goodbye

to the actors,

but as a good spectator

take a memory

and, together with your eyes,

sell it to your Heart.