seasonal poetry

Raindrops drum a tirade dreary.
From their lecture, I am weary.
Golden sun, seek out the sky
And watch the puffy clouds go by.
Then dry the ground so soaked by rain
That beckons to the hues of stain
From blossoms born of tender sprouts
While bygone winter stalks and pouts
And leaves the season in defeat
With an icy heart no more to beat.