I foresee something in the horizon,
A rendezvous perhaps?
A rendezvous with spring, or summer,
Whichever you may like.
The time doth pass with quick fervor,
Like running months to come.
Yet at times they feel like sand dripping,
Each second a year to come.
What will this summer bring,
A trove of treasures perhaps?
In one blink of the eye,
All changes, to nothing one expects.
One waits with much expectation,
Or maybe none at all.
I cannot tell what, or when or how,
but the days have been a delight.
With glee I wait impatiently,
Yet wait I must do so.
Come, come, the time is come.
It is time to go.