Why shall seasons change so peculiar

Petals bloom beneath a cloud of sunshine
As days get long, a season of rebirth
A spring meadow, where flowers lay divine 
The night still as stone, all upon thou earth

At the peak of dusk, a morning so kind
Sun rays tip-toe on fields of butterflies
Not a sight for sombre, nor rain to find
Chirps of birds, waves of warmth paint beyond skies

In the days of dew, a crisp breeze will form
The rustle of leaves, a haze bittersweet 
Trees dancing, perform in vicious fog storms
Secret whispers of wind blow down past streets

Is this, I see, a time of frost thy grow?
A sulking sorrow beweep such pale snow