The Seasons of War

We marched off in the spring to join this war.
The trees were newly leafed, the grass turned green.
Fresh hopes flowered in this land we adore.
Beauty sprouted such as we’d never seen.

Summer brought relentless heat to grow crops
and test the strength of all under the sun.
We soldiers fought through valleys, up hilltops.
Hardened troops were we when August was done.

Fall’s chill winds cooled summer’s heat, the ardor
of men for waging war. The vibrant reds
and yellows of leaves foretold a harder
time ahead, a barren season one dreads.

We’ve been fighting for three years now, have seen
lakes of blood, piles of dead men, tasted both
victory and defeat. We try to glean
some virtue in death for a wartime oath.

Winter has come again to freeze men’s souls.
No end to war draws near. All is forlorn,
the land now barren since the cold controls.
Soldiers mourn and pray to see spring reborn.


(Poetic Format: abab end-rhymes, 10-syllable lines)

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