Weariness

It falls on us as seasons often do when we are unprepared, a weariness that hope cannot subdue; and not one soul is spared. Despite tenacity of my complaint, it is much more than this. Though weary of mortality's constraint, I crave a parting kiss. I covet peaceful Sunday morning light, and all the hours of love, the treasure in the passion of the night, as stars fall from above. With lusty seasons of my youth forgone, so weary of despair am I, I welcome now the curtain drawn, on losses that I bear. In age our triumphs fall and drift like leaves, but never to return; and smoke arises on an autumn breeze, where seasons never learn.