Seasons

Aloft a wayward wind that blew,
Came a biting chill that winter knew.
And tempered summer’s wicked fire,
With a quenching cold of wintry desire.

How strange it is the passing seasons,
Their sudden change―the lack of reason.
For how does winter know to change,
When spring has come? I find it strange.

Or autumn’s leaves and blustery days,
Give way to winter’s snow and haze.
When summer’s fire comes again,
Will spring surrender yet again?

All seasons come in a timely fashion,
Without regard to whim or passion.
And stay no longer than they should.
Though some I wish; I wish they would!

From springtime flowers and budding trees.
To autumn’s gold and rusted leaves.
Winter’s snowflakes on the ground.
Sunshine’s rays in summer abound.

All seasons come and all seasons go.
Each in their time―the ebb and flow.
Whether rusted leaves or falling snow,
Each with a purpose, as seasons know.

©2001, 2021 Brian Duffin