To the Sprite in Her Season

Where Summer begins to cradle Spring

                   is where I relinquished you

                      into pallid, anise-scented arms

          you and your gaiety

           you and your greedy, spilling love  

there will be no cinnamon and honey 

to sweeten your foolish mouth

and you will not care while the days

are warm

as fate dictates 

in every affection gone to rot

you will only be starved 

for my flavour come Winter

-for  M

audio: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B0GF8mxm0ZJRYWN4UVhhY2JTcHc