This is “The Season.”
Peace. That is the cry. She echoes from land to land, order from sand to sand, by woman to man and hand to hand.
The Season exists eternally, but only in those who are free. Those who see no time, to those who need no rhyme, the dove is hard to find among the faithful blind.
This is “The Day.”
RIP: Joe Cocker.
The love in your muse will be missed.
This is a melody to you: bliss.