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.
