Senescence

This summer breeze that blows, my love,
only spreads the seeds of winter;
this heat won’t slow the process,
just add interminable sweat and flies
to a mix where paradise may
or may not exist.

So don’t abandon your hope to the bitter
taste of all you’ve yet to regret
‘cause while you have it you still live,
tho’ the seasons will not forgive or slow
the rhyme and reason to allow
your true nature to show.

Is there something burning, my love?
Is it the parkland of your soul?
Don’t you know its bushfire season
and you’ve let yourself dry out.