The Seasons

Spring

 

Raindrops,

Jewels of the sky, 

Greet vibrant flowers. 

 

Deep reds,

Delicate purples,

And pretty pinks

Paint the verdant ground.

 

While wind dances

Through the sunlight,

Patient birds sing

Through fluffy trees.

 

The sky is pale, 

But not gray,

A welcome change

From winter’s pain.

 

Fresh rays of light

Pierce through blossoms,

Revisiting an image

Once forgotten. 

Summer

 

A scorching white sun

Sits in the center

Of a bold blue sky.

 

Strawberry pops

And electric lemonade

Shower the paths

Of cement and grass.

 

Ice cubes swirl

In slippery glasses full

Of scarlet punch.

 

While backyards bustle

With button-eyed bunnies,

A chorus of laughter

Echoes throughout

The neighborhood.

 

Splashes of teal,

Pointy yellow petals,

And pale chalk dust

Depict bright memories

of summer.

Fall

 

Dry are the leaves

Once green.

 

Red, orange, and gold

Bury the grassy hills 

Of July.

 

Gray trees fading

Signal impatient winds

To awaken.

 

As the cold air lurks,

A familiar warmth emerges.

 

Cinnamon, nutmeg,

And brown sugar

Flavor an elegant autumn.

 

Ensembles of pumpkins

Enliven ragged porches

With candy bowls

Filled to the brim.

 

Vermillion scarves,

Caramel syrup, 

And rich pumpkin pies

Create cordial memories,

As freshly-baked bread

Melts bubbly butter.

 

Fear not the fall

Of a sunny summer,

For autumn has

A warmth of its own.

Winter

 

In a milky sky,

Frozen sugar

Decorates the ground.

 

Curious eyes

Peer outside

To observe the endless

Sprinkling of snow.

 

The tale of winter

Has begun.

 

Vanilla candles,

Peppermint chocolates,

And round gingerbread

Surround friendly chatter.

 

A bouncing puppy

Lifts its fuzzy head

To reveal 

A snow-dusted muzzle.

 

Black branches

Weave through each other,

Embellished with

Gelid crystals.

The scenery settles

For weeks to come.

 

But a once-beautiful

Charm of December

Becomes a mixture

Of slippery sidewalks,

Dark puddles,

And icy clumps.

 

Withered leaves,

Past footprints,

And fingers nearly numb,

Change sentiments.

 

The spark is gone.

 

Perhaps it is time

For spring to return.

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© 2020 by Skycookie Art