The cold expanse of winter,
smothers with it's cloak of grey,
gruelling days and darkest nights,
still-death seems here to stay.

Winter's love, a cold embrace,
a heartless lack of norms.
All give, no take, a withering,
fraught with violent storms.

The skyward race of new green stems,
virgin bloom both fresh and clean.
Spring's eternal sense of beginning,
tomorrow's troubles yet unseen.

Spring's love is full passion,
days of new discovery,
alas it's fruit is not so sweet,
it tastes of bitter treachery.

A lazy flap of summer wings,
the drunken buzz of bees,
the verdant blush, and pregnant heat,
azure skies arch over trees.

Summer's love is forever,
full of vigour, strength and grace.
None of spring's ineptitude,
or winter's cold embrace.

As time goes by and slips away,
summer's colours fade from bright,
they deepen then in tone and hue,
fall's beauty bathed in golden light.

Autumn's love lingers on,
rich, deep, and meaningful.
A tapestry of splendours,
and a bounty for the soul.