When you are the metaphor for a season
I choose to be my own winter
For it is not as cold as it can get
In your whim and or fancy
Some day you dawn, most days you have been dusk
Yet I have remained as noon
Stark, rigid and burning
your comfort, I seek
Not mine, your's for you matter
Yet I know better and I let go often
For you seem to seek me in loneliness
The other times am nothing less than a pariah
Yet to me you will remain
Always warmly wanted and welcomed