The Maker of Seasons

It is months yet till spring.
Snow and ice covers the landscape.

But you have never been one for seasons
that made sense, that followed calendars,

too old when you were young,
too young now that you are old,

you create your own seasons
with work, make believe and faith.

About this poem

Nothing about the timing in my life has made sense. That’s OK. The faith part works.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom