"Seasons"

Spring, that time of life when youth is utterly mad,

Dashing about in desperation to be glad,

Never ceasing its hectic frenzy of merriment,

Little caring how much of precious life is spent.

Summer comes when the wild flush of Spring is gone,

Not quite so blind is it, yet youthful dreams cling on,

Still it hopes, with a tremor and a wistful sigh,

Longing that yet happiness will not pass it by,

Autumn comes, later still, when vibrancy begins to wain,

When it seems that youth and beauty might have been in vain,

Yet a gentleness begins to settle, with the fog and with the mist,

And a value for all of life, even with dreams unkissed.

And of Winter, I could not tell you, for I've not been there yet,

Some think it is a time where woes and sorrows are met.

And while I may prove wrong, I suspect rest more deep.

With life bubbling beneath a quiet surface, growing yet in sleep.