Like a lotus leaf swept from river to the seas,
or as a swallow swims upon a summer's breeze,
from season to sullen season, the bird of life sees;
the shy snowdrop springing, from the thawing earth's embrace,
the searing sun swelling, the sapphire lucid skies,
the golden haired glory, of a cedar's dying grace,
and the cold and stoic gaze, of the icy tundra's eyes.
But the tundra's snows must one day melt,
and the snowdrop's head must some day fall,
while the sun must one day cease to burn,
as the leaves must yield to Winter's call.
For blossoms bud to fall in May,
so too must seasons,
in life live,
and in shadow lay.
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