The Song Of Sade...

For all the white desolation,

The snow will surely thaw;
Viewing pain in isolation,
I smile: it won’t forever be raw.

I think of the next harvest,
And hope it’s on the verge,
Pleasure, at its sweetest –
When it blares, does the dirge.

Perhaps, Sade wrote the song,
Eerily ominous is the refrain:

‘What’s ripe doesn’t have long,
Before it ceases to remain,
Forever, to you, nothing shall belong,
Though ignorance you may feign.

It’s precisely because you know,
That you do not want to hear,
The spring only heralds the snow,
Every smile must cede to a tear.’