What is it like to be cold?
What is it like to grow old?
On the ground,
Where we make no sound;
To be covered with snow,
And nowhere to go;
What is it like to look
up and see that nature took
My life from me,
My home in that tree;
Winter;

What is it like to be new?
To feel the morning dew,
Settle on my face.
As I dance with such grace,
To the birds that sing,
And I feel their wings,
As they stay
In that tree from day to day.
I look down and see
Tulips looking back at me,
Their smiles welcome me home,
In a new body of my own;
My soul, it feels refreshed,
After it’s long winter rest;
Spring;

What is it like to see
Smiling faces fraught with glee?
I see happiness and joy,
In the eyes of little boys
And girls that run
In the hot, hot sun.
I open my mouth and try
To taste the dry
Heat
That greets
My lips;
Summer

What is it like to hear,
The school bells in my ear?
Look down at my little friends,
That do not want summer to end.
I blink my eyes to find,
Costumes-one of a kind;
The pumpkins and candy galore,
These things I do adore.
I begin to say hello,
To the red, orange and yellow;
I have changed,
For I have aged.
Myself I do prepare,
For new life down there;
The wind it makes me fly;
I don’t want to say goodbye,
To my home in the tree,
Where now I must leave;
The wind is too much,
I fall to the ground, crunch;
It is here that I wait,
Until I learn my fate.
I make no sound,
On the ground.
Where I grow old,
Where I am cold.