Seasons that don't exist

It is cold in the Winters woods
As I walk through a land,
Brown bark, green branches and white snow
Silver scars on my hand.

I have seen the grave of Autumn
I have heard Spring's last cry,
I have found the blood of Summer
The day she came to die.

Now I walk through the Winter's woods
Treading on ground of graves,
I have forgotten all that died
All killed by winter's waves.

Colour never was but silver
Snow clad brown trees with green,
The sun never shone on this land
A blossom was never seen.

Myths and mysteries they became
Winds with an Autumns twist,
Spring's perfection, summer's daylight
Seasons that don't exist.