To renew the callousness of a mans heart.

It was the first day of October and the wrath of summer had began to quench from the land.

I remember seeing her there, swirling under a flow of falling leaves,

Under the setting of the sun into the dominion of the western sea.

The wind began to gentle caress my arms,

As I gazed upon this delicate beauty.

Chestnut hair that flowed down her orange sweater,

And the sound of cheer upon each chuckle as she frolicked throughout the leaves.

As I reflect upon her gentle demeanor, and the way she frolics so carefree,

The innocence of a child, but the essence of a maiden,

I start to remember, to reflect, to consider.

Life, has a way of callousing the tenderness of our hearts.

The burdens we endure, the afflictions and pains we bear,

The sorrow that cultivates through constant strife.

What I was is not what I am, and yet what I am is a refinement of what I was,

For that which was, was scolded out of me,

That which is, is a pale imitation of the past,

And that which could be, must be renewed each day,

While being reflected upon, all the more.

Hope, seems to stir deep within my heart,

As a flicker of fire scratched from the darkness into light,

That reveals the tender love I have just discovered.

Sometimes, it takes a real beauty, a spectacular woman,

To bring the softness, the tenderness, the child,

Out from the depths of a mans heart...

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