A wind blows across my shoulder,
Tasting of cold
And summer not yet here.
It makes me wonder
What season it shall be
When I walk streets of gold
In His company.

Will it be a winter
Of endless peace and rest
With stillness and life together?
Or perhaps an autumn
Where the harvest never ends?
Maybe a summer
With eternal sunshine
And breezy joy?
What if it's a spring
Always full of new life and green?

Or shall it be all that at once?
And better?