The Human Seasons

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:—
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:


He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves


His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.




- By: John Keats

Happiness

I am so happy of late
It's amazing how the deepest sadness
Can be turned into lasting joy!

Today, I’m sad
Very sad
What I thought would be a lifetime bliss
Now turns out to be something I can only miss

Stupid me
For believing we would have been together until eternity
I thought our differences would always be worked out
But now you want out

I will take it like a woman
Brush myself off and face this world on my own once again
I am hurting, really bad
And that is the reason, the real reason, I’m sad

The Perfect Man

I do not believe in fantasies
But I do dream at times
And I cant help but wonder
If I could find the ideal lover

If for one moment I could
And everybody should
He would be no less than this

He must be extremely loving and kind
And intelligent enough to stimulate my mind
Tall and handsome would be so fine
And he should show me love all the time

Dont pick a fuss at the drop of a hat
Oh gosh I hate it when you whine
Never go to bed upset with me
And plenty love making is a guarantee

Be wealthy enough to take me on vacations
Fine dining, sporting and shopping too
Dont be so revengeful
Tit for tat is no 'all that'

I really dont require much of a man
Just the simple pleasures of life
That every human would be happy to have
And not sit and wonder when will I be crazy in love?

Heartbreak

If only you could see the tears my heart has cried
The loud bellows, begging you to stay
But my pride will not allow
It is your life and you must take control of it

If only we were able
To do practical things to deal with our little problems
But like me, you did nothing
Promises were not enough

You must go and though it is hard for me to accept
In time I will realize that this is just another step
Another phase in my life which will make me stronger
But 'til then the pain will linger

Before you kissed me only winds of heaven
Had kissed me, and the tenderness of rain—
Now you have come, how can I care for kisses
Like theirs again?

Sara Teasdale (1884–1933)
from "The Kiss"