Four Seasons
So soon the seasons
in cycle.
The chill of winter’s
tangible breath to scorch
the freezing air,
the paperboy’s virgin
footprints etched within
each dawn breaking frost.
The solidarity of summer
from the middle moor
the length of the daylight
to ease the pain of waiting
for heady days in fresh cut
meadows.
The gold of autumn
as one scuffs oceans of
decay caught in the
eve of their lives.
The surprise of spring
One-day nature’s nakedness
the next the creation,
a virgin inflorescences
to confront the perfect
day!
© Harry J Horsman 2000
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