Open Writing

SEASONS
by Violet Kendall

From One Season to Another

When brown earth swells,
Her pregnancy to show,
And over dark tree skeletons
Spring green mosses grow,
Then frost, more gentle and yielding
To the Sun,
Puts aside her mantle.
Another season done.

Now, strong from winter’s sleep,
The daffodils unfold,
With constant flair
Catch the air
In yellow petal bowls.
And though the wheat fields doubting
Too feeble is the Sun,
They rise in green perfection.
Another season come.

Spring

Spring in the garden,
Young and alive,
Pampered, perfumed,
Self satisfied.
But then creeps the ivy,
Pretentious and sly
To clasp the young tree
And kiss her goodbye.

Summer

Summer came slowly,,
Languid and pale.
Blossoms seemed ailing,
Heads bowed with rain.
Summer like autumn,
Cobwebs were fair,
Hung with wet jewels
Caught in their snare.
Summer came hazy,
Mornings surreal, but
Mist was a cover
With little appeal.
Summer was welcome,
One autumn day,
Wrapped around warm
And scented with hay.

Then summer was gone,
And seasons away.

Dandelion

At the edge of a field
Grew a dandelion,
White-headed, petite.
Wild grass was her shelter,
And the scented clover sweet.
The birds had ceased their calling,
A golden sun complete.
The day was set for yawning
To the song of waving wheat.
Then dust, of the reaper’s making,
Arose, only to fall
And cover the waiting wheat field
With a thick funereal pall.
And, sadly, the ageing dandelion,
Having no further need,
Shook her head at the carnage
And shed her feathered seed.

When Seasons Part

They parted like lovers
Who end an affair.
A shedding of tears,
And his icy glare.
Pleasant their courtship
With gold and red sun,
Bright crystal mornings
And holly blossom.
But then she grew older,
Faded and grey.
And he, of that nature,
Grew colder each day.
And Autumn and Winter
Then parted -- per se.