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.
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