THE FOUR SEASONS

The sun, bold and brazen with fire o’er his brow and flame in his eye
Shows his wrath: bereft of water, the rivers cry

The yearning streams are graced upon; an elysian feast for one’s eyes
Ah! nature dances, the breeze lulls e’en the most woeful cries; autumn personified

Alas! such rapture, nay; it cannot last
“Thou hast sufficient pleasure,” winter proclaims; aghast

And kisses her darlings to sleep, never to see the sky
And in the serene lullaby of snow, they sweetly rest under winter’s maternal eye

The flowers, tentative, bloom ever so shy
Spring beckons, and after nature’s repose so deep, jubilant times arrive

Summer returns; bold, with fire o’er his brow and flame in his eye
Beyond the horizon, my friend, is where the four seasons lie