Metamorphoses

When you and I were summer, and the sky

was greyer than the green that grew between
my linden and your oaken strength, serene,

eternal as the shadows passing by.

You whispered me a question; my reply

was lost upon the winds of might-have-been
for change must come to every tranquil scene
and gifts from gods are not what they imply

 

Forever is a dream lost to the dawn

and temples fall to dust beneath the years
as roses split the stones and oceans dry;

yet boughs will bend and brave the tearing thorn

to claim the scars as treasured souvenirs,

and laugh until the summer, you and I.