Four Seasons

In dreams, my Master is made of Four Seasons
Of which to nurture me whole.
He is loving and tender, and ever open
of Heart, Mind, Body and Soul.

His Life'd be the Earth where I establish my roots,
For His Kindness, my spring,
I'd gladly reach upward to embrace this thing
Called servitude, my gratitude
For being alive.

His Passion'd by my Summer; His flame therefore my Sun
And the Fall would come of maturity
And experience combined, my security,
That He will ripen and harvest my "gift"
With Trust and pureness of Honesty.

Alas, then comes Winter, the chill in the air,
When Master is unhappy, burdened with my care
His discipline may be bitter or soft as the snow
But either way, I shall know
There is a reason of which He knows best
For Winter is a time for reflection and rest
Of all that lives and is natural.

In dreams, my Master is made of Four Seasons
Each serves a purpose that helps me to grow
He completes for me the Circle of Life
And my "gift" becomes his for every
Today and t'morrow.