Spring

This season that's supposed to be spring,
how do I accept it's nearing end?
I've got gardens and kept them good,
How do I not have cracked pots to make amends?

Soon, I'll be thrown in the rains,
And green, then fall, then snow,
And be stranded alone on the very spot
As every season that comes will go

How is that that seasons of my favorite shows
Somehow manages to return well in time
And the chestnut tree I've grown to despise
Stays in storms way past its prime

When my time came for the dream world tour,
I never got past the boarding gate
But the swallows keep flying northwards
Keeping their golden Summer's date

Soon the Happy Prince will have lost his eyes,
And conversation vague like ancient men,
Gold will rustle under unaccustomed feet,
Will I be sulking for Autumn then?