Dear stranger,

oh what a cold winter morning it is

still not poor

still not rich

people still often call me a bitch

but who is to say I am and who is to say I am not

often I ought to be better

but that is for another weather

for now a cold winter morning creeps

a chill racing across the air happily like a fleeting hare 

yet still claws at those close as viciously as a lion

 

Dear stranger,

Oh what a fine spring has sprung

yet still not poor

still not rich

although now I am called an irritating itch

can't say I mind and can't say don't care

but, it is better in the air

for now the sun shines away the frost of a bitter heart

thawing away the ice and snow

make way for the water of rivers to flow

 

Dear stranger,

oh what a hot heated summer has come

yet still not poor

still not rich

now I am called witch

I don't flinch, I only twitch

but, I still can't tell witch is which

for now the heat has risen far enough to burn away the rivers

all that remains is the sand from where I once stood

the beds have been made and left out to dry in desert's heat

 

Dear stranger,

oh what a relief to fall upon fall

yet still not poor

still not rich

now my name has no niche

can't claim it's bad and can't claim it's better

but it has come a long way

for now the harvest of a long hard years success is finally ready

the leaves are changing and the animals scurry for a winters night

oh what a long awaited rest has come at last

 

Dear stranger,

oh what another cold winter morning it is again

isn't it funny though

for what is our wealth other than money

the life we live of course

the life that can be as cold as the winter air

warm as the springs sun

harsh as the summer's heat

and as calming as the fall's autumn leaves

so isn't it funny, these seasons of life

that come and go with the years

oh so much would it be nice to take flight

but such is life, to a bitter delight

so dear stranger,

what is life in your sight?