It is funny how much
Inevitable endings
Can feel like new beginnings
And new beginnings
Like desolate endings;

Not unlike how late autumn
Can feel like early spring
If one is not paying attention,
How you can stand in the cool
On a blue, sunny day in November
And deceive yourself into thinking
It is the song of fresh life in March;

How one can despair in the rains
Not far into the new sprung year
Certain everything’s end is near,
Such is the endless ebb and flow
Of singular hope and wasteful woe.