Seasons

Winters bleak icy fingers
like tendrils of a dark orchid
entwine around the remnants
of the Autumn morn
No more the golden days
with warm air and dusty earth.
cold and damp it creeps
into crevices and clings,
gripping the frosted ground
making it hard as stone.
soon snow will fall silent
without a sound
then the short dark days will
open up like the daffodils
of early spring when the warm sun
breaks through the grey oppressive skies
and rainfalls,
as the fresh new season springs into life
the shadows grow longer
as do the days of summer, that,
as children we hold
golden memories of playing
in fields of yellow flax
under cobalt blue skies