With each tick of the clock, seasons quietly bend,
Every storm that came and went, left behind a friend.
The sunlit land now shivers under snow’s command,
Where warm winds once whispered love, silence now stands.
Golden leaves spoke softly, of life and its tide,
Even fruits lost their sweetness, as time passed by.
Once smooth and tender, their skins now cracked and dry,
The days grow shorter, and love asks why.
If only I had sown a garden, with these fleeting days,
Cradled each moment softly, like colors in sun rays.
Had I only watered the leaves, kept them green with care,
Saved them from curling dry, held them in prayer.
I should’ve tasted the fruit, while it still held light,
Wrapped it in shade, before it faded from sight.
In age or youth, I’d hold them close and tight,
Cover them in warmth, before the cold took flight.
Just once more, I wish time would be kind,
Let us dance, sing, leave the past behind.
For this life was never mine alone to see—
It was always ours, our shared destiny.