Four Seasons Poem by Paul Reed

'Four seasons fill the measure of the year

There are four seasons in the mind of man'

John Keats - The Human Seasons,1818



For two hundred years you have lain here

Under the ground, dead

While we still into your mind peer

To find out your fear and dread;



The seasons pass over and over again

The trees shed their leaves, the ices melt

Breezes blow, unseen the rain

The sun scorches on earth unfelt;



And still we agonise, still we bleed

Still the years drift into the past

Still every spring we cast the seed

Like hopes over your grave broadcast.