The Seasons Of The Games We Play Poem by Brian Hinckley

The games we play keep us occupied,
winding down the year without our notice.
Under the sugary-scented tree we meet,
a single kiss among the falling petals.

Falling leaves turn to falling snow,
settling around us as we continue to play.
Under the frost wreathed tree we meet,
a gentle kiss among the swirling flakes.

Snow melts and turns to warm rain,
falling to the earth as our games never cease.
Under the budding tree we meet,
a passionate kiss among the crystalline droplets.

Rain stops and turns to pure sunlight,
coating us in warmth as we finally stop our games.
Under the tree in full bloom we meet,
a soft kiss full of meaning among the sunlight slanting through the leaves.