The Cry of the Seasons

A sheet of a person
covered in the winter’s snow
is he already gone?
No one will know
His body lay open
in the hot summer sun
his spirit is roaming
no longer the source of their fun
When they find his body
in the crisp autumn air
will they realize what they did
when they just left him there?
His body now covered
in the forgiving spring rain
they gather to mourn
in the field where he was slain