Oh I am but a simple leaf
withering within the gutter
one summer of bliss
now! Just an autumn flutter.
For some; destine to fall
upon stony ground, a part
of life’s infernal gyration.
Yet for those that fall
within your reach, to live
on within your soul!
While limbs that stretch
towards the solstice, create
vivacious veins as channels of hope,
a pledge of foliation continues
to endure what spring has
furnished; autumn expires.
Yes! If we can but learn
from nature’s complex simplicity,
that life be of a cycle
from the seed we are conceived,
then let spring be my beginning
winter my exultant eve!
Let our two cultures
merge as one, the
to become the sustenance;
our transfusion the
Let us breathe the
fragrance of born again;
let each slender limb,
stout body bear our
tenaciousness, each lyrical
leaf our life’s blood.
Let us mollycoddle each
precious tear that falls from a
angry sky; dance gracefully
upon the wind, embrace
on moonless nights, bathe
in summer madness.
Let us hear the bluebell call,
the daffodil pray, the apple
blossom bear witness; the
clamour of the field mouse
the pitapat of the butterfly
the silence of lovers in love.
Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!
The call of springtime
we will invoke,
we will gladly choke;
“This! Obliging old oak.”
A flower breaks out afresh from its swollen,
green bud and then stretches outward into
the sun-drenched sky.
A thing of nature that's timeless
and perennial, it faithfully blooms and
adorns its surroundings like its predecessors.
Never alone, it is joined by its floral neighbors
of its own kind in fragrant numbers, suffusing
the atmosphere all around with a heavy, yet
sweet stench of lavender and honeysuckle.
The thick odor seduces and encourages the
flower-borne bees, hornets, and yellow-
jackets nearby into a steady rhythm and pulse
of continuous labor over the pollen-rich
blossoms and perfumed, colorfully-tinted
petals. From an adjacent pond the over-
abundant and unsubtle beauty of the
lily-of-the-valleys add their distinctiveness
to the already rich and lush floral landscape,
now teeming with the life and vigor of
spring in full bloom.
First of all I am going to tell you a story about the four seasons,
winter summer spring and fall,
Its a story not to forget at all and it is easy to remember that
Fall is a season that likes it cool, the nice wind blowing as all the leaves make sounds as they hit the ground,
And Winter it's a season of snow with the frosty nicknames that everyone knows.
And Summer is the hotest season of all,bringing up the heat so much you wish it was still fall.
Now spring is the prettyest season I have seen, where everything is blooming and growing green.Its a season where all the birds start singing cause of the joy they have had with winter,summer, spring, and fall....
I do not know?
From bright colors even the brightest blond turns grey.
Grown men now stand.
Were once young children did play.
The once new cover.
Is now tattered and torn.
time has all but erased the oaths once proud men had sworn.
The field now overgrown still haunts memories of the blue and grey.
Old worn headstones markers of were they'll forever lay.
No bell to ring no voice shall call.
The ghosts of the past erased by spring summer and fall.
The old porch stands hidden by a overgrowth of vines.
Now blank are the boards that once were painted signs.
The blood followed swiftly from the wound of the past.
To forge a path to a time that could never last.
Gone is the tree that once stood so very tall.
Forgotten by time
So is the legend of spring summer and fall.
My love, your breath, fresh as a spring breeze,
Caresses my face, with a wondrous tone,
As your sweet lips, approach mine, we moan.
For expectation, of such pleasurable tease,
For there is no time, for emotions to please,
Our brief moments, are barely, only a loan.
For passion delivers, future beautifully alone,
Our ecstasies of movements together, appease.
After spring, before the heat of summer time,
Our ardor grows; grows within each heart.
Our touch, Heavens blessing, to each other,
These moments, hours, days have no crime.
Together forever, our souls, never part,
Our spirits are free, to love; never smother.
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.
seasons is the relationship.
changes a lot.
SUMMER tells us the value of FRIENDS.
WINTER tells us the caring of FRIENDS.
SPRING is about the quarrel with the FRIENDS.
AUTUMN tells about the LONELINESS.
THUNDER occurs when you fight with me.
LIGHTING occurs when.,
i miss my LOVED ONE.
RAIN occurs when.,
i spend time with my LOVELY ONE.
BREEZE occurs when you give a SMILE after a CRY.
that's the life,
which i spend with my DEAR ONE.
Summer lies sleeping somewhere in fields of daisies
her warm breeze waltzes with each blade of grass
Autumn’s reclined wrapped within soft, cool mists
her nursery of seeds and parched leaves put to bed
Winter has awoken and rides the frigid northern winds
Ushering in a moment of slumber to proffer the circle of life
And... spring will come tomorrow, a new beginning to champion
When all asleep arise once more, with burst of colors everywhere!
I remember the cabin by the lake in the wood
and Grandma giving us buckets, telling us we should
walk up the creek to get some water from the stream.
Remembering it now is almost like a dream.
No electricity, no plumbing, no water at hand
but we thought it the prettiest place in the land.
In spring we got water not far from the door.
As summer progressed we had to walk a little more.
By August the spring barely flowed at all
so we'd follow the stream, though we were quite small.
Alone in the woods with a bucket each,
following that creek 'til a pool we'd reach.
Filling the buckets, then back down the hill.
This was our chore, I remember it still.
We'd pick wild flowers and try to catch frogs,
taking too long as we walked along logs.
Every morning two buckets of water we brought.
These were for drinking, lake water was not.
Lake water was boiled and used for cleaning up.
The only one who drank it was the cocker spaniel pup.
The stream was the run-off from melted snow.
Down the mountain it ran, to the lake below.
Fast and furious , the winter through
but gentle and quiet by summer it grew.
The cabins at the lake are updated now
with electricity and plumbing but I remember how
two eight year old girls went for water each day.
Their chore done before they headed off to play.
for Constance's 'Write Me a rippling Stream'