This season is not one for joy,
It gives me room to cry and not be coy.
My heart pours like the relentless drops outside,
Until there is a sadness that no longer resides.
Gone are the songs of cheerful mirth,
Replaced by silence, cold and dearth.
The earth lies still, in hushed repose,
As sorrow through the landscape flows.
It is the season that I love the most,
For I find comfort in the pours.
Though it contains a sadness it hosts,
That gives my soul the time to repose.
Not relating to the tearless skies,
For is there a sadder season than the one that cries.
In the weeping clouds, our sorrows blend,
As tears of heaven, with ours, descend.
So let the storm rage,
Let the tears fall free,
For from sadness blooms strength and empathy.
This season is not one for apathy.

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