The spring that turns the season and races towards the fall;
the hurt that quells the laughter and
the joys, however small;
The slowly passing moments and these thoughts unsure, afraid
uncertain of tomorrow:
relief, this soul has craved
Remember still, my aching heart and all that it has braved,
these but longings for the heav’nly realms;
oh, Heart, be not dismayed!
in Christ, be you allayed.
- J. P. Antonios