All the While and All the When

If leaves in summer failed to fade, they’d garner nary an accolade when autumn brushed the hills and dales, and Jack Frost whistled storms and gales. Ice Kings would genuflect in awe, while vainly winter’s storms would claw, and flowers withering would fold in anguish from the bitter cold – yet all the while and all the when the earth would tuck its bowers in, embellishing this brilliant scene with landscapes swathed in Irish green. Author notes Published by The Society of Classical Poetry.