Quarterly progression

The cold of winter, in my cardboard nest
I'm puffing steam, like a locomotive at rest
 all outer parts, lost to the touch
that postcard beauty, meaning not much

 Broken promises, on which to starve
Great expectations, that soon were halved
alone in a doorway, left to just crouch
with just the warmth, of my old faithful pooch

The pale watery glimmer, a wintery sun
is, spring just a hope, or a river to drown
small change, so grudgingly, thrown down to a bum
the shell of myself, in small ugly town

Some spit abuse, and some offer advice
"its never to late to change your life"
but all I need, is a warm friendly smile
the thaw, to something, much more tactile

 New year gone, and now disappeared
 lengthening days, bringing welcome reprieve
the food bank giving, the things that I need
but my pessimist's voice, says "don't be deceived"

The corner is long, the change so prolonged
the ladder so steep, and gaps without rungs
and summer is here, and soon it is gone
no genie from lamp, no fairy with wand

No sorcery come, no midsummer nights dream
just the foul mouths, and vindictive spleen
tempers are short, the humidity high
 prison of heat, no escape from its fry

I'm painting a picture, its outlook so bleak
the world, like a man, needs some love quite unique
 both down on our uppers, and starting to bleed
 autumn's opportunities, are just dying dead leaves

Bloated obesity, of past mistakes
foolishly spent, when we should have saved
squander the harvest, the golden goose laid
now to fall in nightmare, towards hades spate