Who would have guessed it

My love for every season

Could be distilled and

Captured within these verses

Month by month, year over year.

The rise and the fall

Another season’s turning

Ripen on the vine

That is the year twenty three

And two-thousand new vintage

I defy the thought

I chose to weather with you

Every season’s gift

Summer’s fruit, Autumn’s harvest,

And Winter’s delicate kiss.

Biting winter wind,

Rolling through the alleyway,

Making spring the fool,

Or so it would seem to me,

And my tissue paper coat.

It is near the end
And it always saddens me
Where does the time go?
Like The Seasons, poems are
An ephemeral language.

I am perplexed by
The season of this morning
Cloaked in Autumn’s robes
I am kissed by Summer’s crown
But encased by Winter’s howl.

Without my consent,
Tossed aside and into dirt,
I am forgotten.
For a seasons turn I sleep,
Before I blossom in red.

Cool summer morning
Remove your foggy blanket
Sing us good morning
With soil and a sunrise kiss
Orange poppies bid you welcome.