The Seasons
Trees rustle in Spring
anticipating delight
at returned green leaves.
Summer brings the Sun
closer to its satellite
and Earths basks in light.
When Autumn returns
she paints all of those green leaves
reds browns and yellows.
Now it's Winter's turn
and with her, she brings a sheet
and says, "Time to sleep."
Then, someday we wake
and Spring's shower, now we take
Continuing on.
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.