Four Seasons/Five Poems

Spring's Breath, Voice and Touch.

The Breath of Spring is over the land,
With myriad seedlings deep in earth.
Now alert and all a tip-toe stand,
Eager to share their glad new birth.

The Voice of Spring is in the lane,
And countless birds with swelling throats.
Freed from grim winters silent chain,
Pour forth their joy in liquid notes.

The Touch of Spring has stirred my heart,
To dream of brighter, happier greener days.
As nature paints rainbow's gleams like art,
With mists that rise to reveal life's ways.

*
Summer.

Day by day the heat persists,
Don't know how I can exist.
Every day the blazing sun,
Awful lot of damage done.

Fall asleep no matter where,
From the hot and humid air.
Every day so close and fine,
For a cooling  swim I pine.

Dash right home and into shorts,
Give no thought to outdoor sports.
Grab a cooling drink and book,
Softly settle in a shady nook.

Thinking and the writing wait,
Until another later date.
Toss and turn through the night,
Waking up feeling like a fright.

Hot I am and hot I'll be,
Until some cooling rain I see.
Summer's here and here it stays,
A summer sun and its golden rays.

*
Autumn.

On enchanting Autumn days like these,
No other thought have I.
Just to don my hiking boots,
And walk beneath God's sky.

I wander over hill and vale,
And banish every worry.
No frown can linger on my brow,
For I'm never in a hurry.

All the greens, golds and browns.
Are dancing with the breeze,
For God just had His paintbrush out,
And touched up all the trees.

From sparkling gems and firelight's glow,
He chose each tint with care.
And mixed them up with gentle rains,
To paint the scene shown there.

Some people have more money, yes.
But as long as I can see,
The riches growing all around,
I'll humbly thankful be.

*
The Winter King.

A cold wind is calling me,
Falling snows whisper my name.
For I'm the spirit of Winter,
One that man can never tame.

I live throughout this frozen time,
Powerfully controlling everything.
So bleak so harsh so desolate,
This season of which I'm King.

I will not yield my throne,
For a quarter of a year.
As maiden Spring comes calling,
For her I am sincere.

My reign is up my time at hand,
I once again now leave this land.
I shall return of that no doubt,
Another Winter to cruelly draw out.

*
Spring.

I wander down the quiet paths,
With happy thoughts of Spring.
And peek into each dusky nook,
Where tiny flowers do cling.

In this season jack in the pulpit,
Dons his frock of brown and green.
And tells his band of wood folk,
How to live a life serene.

The clear white petals of bloodroot,
Shine from its green-land bower.
Clever people used to make perfume,
From the roots of this perfect flower.

And the violet, shy and retiring,
Lifts its dainty little head.
On the banks of a sparkling pool,
In a lovely scented bed.

The frail white petals of anemone,
Do their best to catch my eye.
Since they're dressed so modestly,
One could easily pass them by.

And hepatica, with its new Spring dress,
In sweet lavenders delicate hue.
Displays with understandable pride,
The work Mother Nature can do.

And the wonder of the great outdoors,
Brings peace and calm and rest.
And we who are close to quiet woods,
Are so surely greatly blessed.