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.