Mother Nature brings the seasons

with careful planning, for each a reason.

Because our cravings do not hold,

She grants each year white, pink, red and gold.

The rain of fall she turns to frost,

while every pool around is glossed.

Glittering spears poised towards the land

suspend above the sugared sand.

But when sought is relief from her chilly nip,

the sparkling darts begin to drip.

She descends in an unnoticed hush

to bestow the vivacious blush

which winter stole, the icy thief,

she crowns each flower, grass and leaf.

Field and garden each are painted

while rain and cloud become acquainted.

The child blooms beside the flower

delighting in perpetual shower.

But when the world the clouds imprison,

the dewy drops have lost their glisten,

all but dreams left soaked and sodden,

She commissions the sun the land to soften.

It’s saffron rays reach to caress;

to pull above Earth’s drowning dress.

Each night is clear and free of chill,

Her congenial warmth lingers still.

But in the blaze of yellow sun

the ripe of harvest comes undone.

When first the rain is given life,

it’s of salvation from the knife

that cuts into our thirsty throats,

scorching each harmonious note.

The wind sings out in quiet tunes

while round the floor gold flags are strewn.

The barren trees, each friend now lost,

so again She brings the frost.



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