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Seasons
by
Robin E. Wright


In all the world, in every year,
There are four seasons that always appear,
Each season has delights itís own,
Some expected, but most unknown. 

Winter is a time so sparce,
Frosts and snows upon the grass,
Trees that look so Bleak and bare,
Adds to the chill upon the Air. 

The floraís existence slows right down,
The Fauna struggles for food all round,
Foliage falls to earth all brown,
And lays upon the frozen ground. 

Then Spring dost burst upon the scene,
Trees and hedgerows begin sprouting Green,
Flowers push their Buds to rise,
And lift their heads up towards the skies. 

Summer is the next season we meet,
And covers the Earth with solar heat,
Ripens the Crops within the fields,
And gives to the Farmers abundance in yields.

Autumnís a season thatís like no others,
Trees and Hedgerows awash with colours,
The Sun though watery through branches does show,
A dappled pattern on the ground does glow.

  And now again the winter is hear,
Fast approaching the end of the year,
And so the seasons have run their course,
We realise Natureís a powerful force.

 R E Wright
28 01 2004


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