So much depends
upon
the seasons.
Remaining constant in our lives,
their undaunted turning is slow.
The seasons change
even as I try to stay frozen in one place...
but they will not let me.
Their pull
uproots me from the ground.
Their turning
is silent and slow.
Mine is the same.
Note: The title and first line were borrowed from
William Carlos Williams' poem "The Red Wheelbarrow"
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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