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The Seasons

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Spring morning dawns, with sparkling dew
Birth of new fawns, and flowers bloom
Life, hope abound, and troubles few
And isn’t it nice?
And isn’t it peaceful?
When blossoms fall
Comes sun’s warm luster

So sepia toned was the noon’s light
Hot summer sways, and meadows bite
Iced red, yellow, purple, and white
And isn’t it bright?
And isn’t it eager?
When clouds subside
Comes rolling thunder

Rains splatter to gray, without avail
Mourned as leaves of autumn fell
Orange spice; cold, fleeting gales
And isn’t it sad?
And isn’t it fearful?
When birds take flight
And winter draws nearer

Blankets of snow hide deadened grass
Flowers wait, while roots collapse
Crystals fall, and hills amass
And isn’t it white?
And isn’t it tearful?
How the seasons pass
And never falter





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