The Seasons

Muddy puddles, messy things, drops of water, tiny rings

Muddy shoes, muddy boots, little sprigs from tiny roots

Budding trees, fast turning green, popping flowers in between

Gentle breezes brush the hair, without a worry, without a care

Blades of grass just coming thru, cloudy skies, but yet some blue

Spring is here for just awhile, to bring the summer in with style

Little ripples on the lake, tiny fishes, rings they make

Now and then a pokey nose, turtles peeking, rocks they chose

Sunny days upon the rock, each and every way they flock

Watching every passerby, little heads, but sharp an eye

Quacking ducks, searching mate, northland bound to seek their fate

Nests to build, a family choose, hidden so, and in recluse

Preying eyes to search them out, stealthy creeping all about

Foliage chosen, hide them so, be protected, strong winds blow

Spawning fish, perhaps in May, along the shore, along the bay

Reptiles swim, reptiles crawl, along the banks, a prey to fall

But in the trees the birds do sing, now and then to sky they wing

The flying squirrels to air they take, but ne'er a bruise, maybe fake

The cattle graze in pasture still, the plowman's horse, the soil to till

Soon the fields the farmer sow, his keep to earn, the crops he grow

Then harvest come, for it be fall, once again his produce haul

To the market, far and wide, and dread the winter, to abide

Beside his stove, family 'round , a greater treasure ne'er be found

To sing and dance, the stories told, and reminisce the days of old

This be the life, think not so bad, sometimes happy, sometimes sad

This be the heritage, great or small, this be winter, no more fall

The waters now, hard as stone, the fields be white, fences blown

Now settled we, in soft warm bed

To sleep 'til morn, the Good Book read