4 Seasons

Visually, Mother Nature’s seasonal cycle is a truly spectacular phenomenon. This is my very first respectable poem, written as a 12-year old, in 1963. 4 Seasons Autumn sheds her brilliant beauty, painting pictures on the ground. Twirling leaves of gold, and crimson, brush the lawn without a sound, Sketching scenes with cooler mornings, Winter now is ling'ring near, Scenes which soon will conquer Autumn, ending thus, another year. Snow, but flakes, will soon drift lightly, turning white a frigid land, Covering trees that stand as corpses, seeming dead at Winter’s hand. But, in time, this icy blanket learns the taste of gentle rain Melting off the quilt of crystal…few reminders will remain. Showers then will sprinkle softly, thus denoting Spring’s return. Bleak and lifeless limbs no longer…Summer’s sun begins to burn. ‘Til the sun, in blazing glory, drifting slowly, east to west, Once again invades the woodlands, putting all the trees to rest, Slowly plucking, by the millions, leaves - to rend them all but bare, As Winter’s frosty wind encroaches, once again, to chill the air. Every hue within the spectrum glows aflame, both far and near. So is nature’s greatest sequence....‘tis like clockwork....year to year. PS: I've now got 4 new CDs - @ 4 1/2 hours each = (62 diversely varied poems), listed on EBAY - under - “Mark Stellinga Poetry” - should those of you who travel care to be so entertained. (We use PayPal) Cheers, Mark