I will write you a book of seasons -
So you will understand better her climate.

In the nautical faults of her heart, 
Bear in mind that direction going
Forward doesn't mean advance, 
Nor retreat a backward glance. 

To what path you trod, whether on the 
Widening winter or the sacrifice of summer,
Solace will accept whatever compromise
You make of today for what will be.

Losing her doesn't mean you are dead - 
Only a comatose of mind - where longing 
Springs forever as it empties itself 
In the sea of sleep and waking.
 
I will write you a book of seasons -
Words arriving and departing to 
Lead you, handed down from my own
Period of defeat. But that is enough. 

So take heed before you proceed, 
Despite the never ending summers,
There are storms, the fierce sky - 
The seasons of regret.