Fit for the Seasons
I love it.
I love all of it.
I love how the leaves set ablaze
And oh, how autumnís ember cascades
But the days can only get colder, I would think
As if to commemorate summerís resignation
As well as natureís last breaths in the heat of the moment
I love it
I love it more than I should
I love how the flowers have grown
And oh, how they rise to the top as they drown
But you begin to wonder how every time you plant one,
With a vain desire to avoid your inadvertent attempt to kill the seed,
You pat the dirt with your spade as if to say ďA job well done"
I cannot tell you much about the sun or the skies,
If I told you I loved them both, Iíd be telling lies.
Those are extremes for which I can only lust
Until I know for sure if they matter much.
There are four and only four seasons.
Dare I ask any more of the spring?
The winter and summer are fond of each otherís
Cries and how they mock mankind
There are four types of people, all fit for the season
And each with their reasons
I love it.
I crave it.
I am one with the earth.