Seasons

A country so hot to handle, 
A burning sphere, 
Melting my sandal, 
This weather only here, 
Three months of a year. 

A country not hot nor cold, 
Where our days shorten, 
And we play in the fallen leaves off now deciduous trees, 
No more pretty buzzing bees. 
Our souls never growing old. 

A country so cold, 
A story to be told, 
Of a strong icy-blast, 
The Titanic situation, 
Truly aghast. 

A country of warm days, 
Where flowers are blooming, 
rainbow and colourful in arrays, 
The weather consuming, 
All our precious time.