The Four Seasons

February 20, 2010

In Winter's deathly grip
The flower endures, refusing to die.
It waits for spring
To detonate its colors.
An explosion of red
In the midst of green.

But Winter has just begun.
And Spring is miles away.
The flower waits,
Crystallized by ice,
For a new dawn.
Winter has no mercy.


Finally, after its treacherous wait;
The flower feels the mist of Spring.
The flower dances with joy,
Its petals like a brush on canvas.
The flower listens to Spring's stories
Just whispers in the wind.

The flower basks in the watery sun,
Not too hot, nor too cold.
The rain falls, Just a spray
To quench the flower's thirst.
But it all must end,
And Spring departs.


Summer comes, a fiery inferno
Blazing, scorching the flower.
But the flower perseveres.
The sun was as hot as Winter was cold.
Both were fierce, and merciless.
And Autumn felt ages away.

Summer reigned like a great king,
Powerful and merciless on his throne.
He look down upon his subjects,
His scorching eyes pitiless.
But finally, with one last heat wave,
Summer retreated.


The gentle breeze rustles the flower's petals
Kissing them gently as it glides by.
It tells stories of days gone by
And dances with the fallen leaves
As in an intricate ballet.
Autumn has settled.

The flower, shuts its eyes
To better feel the wind
And listens to Its serenade
Of days gone by and days to come.
Winter's claw provokes no fear.
For the flower only knows, the stories of the wind.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback