Chasing Nothing

I'm albeit slowly beginning to realise that
There are things that can never be chased down.
In chasing, we're all like pack dogs trying to run down their quarry,
Who they know might never end up being that bone in their mouth,
But to chase is all they know,
And they will.

April Come She Will

April come she will

When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again

June, she'll change her tune,

In restless walks she'll prowl the night; 

July, she will fly

And give no warning to her flight.

August, die she must,

The autumn wind blow chilly and cold;

September I'll remember.

A love once new has grown old.

                                                          - Simon & Garfunkel