Seasons

The rays of the sun glitter upon blooming flowers.

A cool bubbling brook

Carries whispers of new life

Throughout the terrain.

Spring has sprung.

My soul is given hope.

The beating sun gives the world a golden glow.

The brook is a place of refreshment

For feral animals that run and play

Through the meadows of dancing flowers.

Summer has thrived.

My soul is joyous in merriment.

The sun has gone into hiding,

Beckoning the animals to follow suit.

Disturbed by the breeze that is no longer gentle,

The vibrant leaves of the trees spiral to the ground.

Fall has decayed.

My soul is troubled.

The warm caress from the sun is absent.

What is left of beauty is bitten by the bitter wind.

The trees are bare,

The flowers, dead.

The brook is still and lifeless.

Snow flutters silently to the ground.

Winter has stolen.

My soul is cold.