The four seasons

 

Spring

The birds are singing in the rain,

and although the sun’s gone in again;

Spring! Spring! Comes bounding in,

blossom dressed, decadent as sin.

Summer

and thus does summer talk to me

merging the pleasures there you see

two butterflies or maybe three

dancing dancing there under that tree

under a sky so blue or in a shaded lee

now this is how summer is meant to be

Autumn leaves

Dawn's slept breath upon my window lies, 

truant in the morning sun, 

and sliding wraith-like from my widening eyes, 

inveighs of Autumn, dare not go on and on

Winter falling

down trees upon the water

where no paths go