Seasons

by Sinmay Zau

First time I saw you, you gave me your heart; and inside it there was

a spring morning. Second time I saw you, you gave me your words, but

unspeakable was the raging fire of summer. Third time I saw you, you
gave me your hand; inside it you held the leaf-fallen deep autumn.
Last time I saw you was my short dream; in it was you and a flock of
winter wind, too.