fair skin melting into leather,
seasons come with colder weather,
the roses bloom will fade away,
the lustful youth will start to pray-
for next year's midnight summer moon,
in the fields of sweetened June,
for nights of love and golden dreams,
laughter beneath stars twinkling beams,
for honeyed lips that long for passion,
not the frost's harsh, bitter lashing.
but not all await those sacred days,
of joy and peace, and hate kept at bay.
time wags on and passes those by,
who only sought to crucify,
who did not stop and feel the wind,
watch the clouds or forgive sin.
they did not live for sunlight's touch,
nor the evenings enchanting hush.
and as they sag and break away,
they’ll lament for all those summer days-
and will realize with their last, heavy sigh,
that they are the ones who lived only to die.