Leaves

Of the lover's leaves in summer, in full view plain to see,

it's easier to speak of them - I've found this true to be.

But of their leaves come winter, when hidden by the cold,

it's then you'll find with thought in mind

what's stirring in the soul: a deeper kind of meaning,

a warmer kind of touch - a hidden longing deep inside

whose blooms do try to clutch. For with the spring we learn then

we're all the cycle's pawn, and darling you keep blooming

each day from dusk to dawn.