The Turning of Seasons

From summer’s blaze to autumn’s fire, The leaves fall down, a red-gold choir. Sun dips low in amber light, As days drift gently into night. The autumn wind is crisp and clean, It sweeps the branches, bare and lean. The harvest done, the fields laid bare, The earth breathes out a cooler air. Then winter comes in robes of white, Snowflakes dance in silver light. Silent woods, in stillness deep, The land beneath drifts into sleep. Yet, hidden there beneath the frost, A seed awaits what time has tossed. The pulse of spring, a faint, warm call, To thaw the snow, to break the wall. So seasons turn, as time goes on, Each one a verse, a fleeting song. From bloom to bare, from warm to cold, The endless circle, new yet old.