The Four Seasons

The Four Seasons

White wispy waves float across the sky,

Hand on my brow, a tear in my eye.

Buds like little pearls breach the surface,

All elements assembling to fulfill their purpose.

The sun so bright high above the growing cloud,

The formations twist and twirl in the sea breeze.

The mountain tops are misted over in a thin shroud,

The summer pollen eats away at my nose, I sneeze.

The birds sing sweet tunes to the fruitfully golden trees,

The rich meadows ready for the autumn harvest.

Wives collecting herbs in bundles on their knees,

Everyone tired and working their hardest.

The leaves fall off the branches and the flowers die.

The willows weep and the sleeping sycamores cry.

Winter is here.