Sense of security...

Where is that feeling... I've lost it to the cold of winter, the withered leaves of autumn, the creek of spring, and the waves of summer... where it had been lost, near the flower bed, by the stream, among the rocks, carried away by ripples... I couldn't see for once, the changing of tides, as day combines with night, when the nightingale sings its heart out, to the glaring sun which pierce deep into the down feather... where is it kept, by father of time, mother of seasons, granny of the past and grandpa of the present... it's in a ball, curled, frozen, forgotten, knowing its time of glory had passed... waiting for the True Spring where it will bud again... Hoping...