THE SEASONS

Late autumn now, the year is fading fast.
When winter comes there'll be no discontent
For we have seen the summer was well spent;
Another round of seasons will have passed.

We were not there to share the joy that spring;
For those who were, their winter's long since gone.
The baton's passed to us to carry on
As winter gives its final painful sting.

For seasons are ordained to come and go,
We each live lives in our own finite year,
And all too soon eternity is near.
We'll know the truth of reaping what we sow.

And has my personal summer been well spent?
Have I acknowledged mighty God as King?
Ah, yes I know when winter's parting fling
Has come to me, then I shall rest content.

© Tom Chapman 2006