Petrarchan Sonnet: Metamorphoses

When you and I were summer, and the sky was greyer than the green that grew between my linden and your oaken strength, serene, eternal as the shadows passing by. You whispered me a question; my reply was lost upon the winds of might-have-been for change must come to every tranquil scene and gifts from gods are not what they imply

Forever is a dream lost to the dawn and temples fall to dust beneath the years as roses split the stones and oceans dry; yet boughs will bend and brave the tearing thorn to claim the scars as treasured souvenirs, and laugh until the summer, you and I.