You asked for summer –
And it’s at your threshold,
In robes of burning leaves
Of dry, exhausted soil
/
Afraid of heat and draught,
You begged for autumn
And, crying rains, it came
To wail outside your door
/
Scared of its open wounds,
You called for winter
Who, like a blizzard, swift
All ice, distress and cold,
/
Appeared, but it was spring
You thought you wanted:
Capricious, lukewarm, shy
It came, but you recoiled
/
You locked your home,
Inventing a fifth season,
Which looked like summer,
Smelled like autumn herbs,
/
Which had the grace
And fierceness of a winter
And laughed, like spring,
At your uncanny jokes
robes of burning grass brought to mind curtains of burning rage
Depending on what kind of ‘grass’ we have burning here, some might have asked the summer to stay for a smoke :). Edit: changed ‘grass’ to ‘leaves’.
It is difficult to write about the seasons without cliche, but this is fantastic. This is an honest look at how we are not accepting of the what they are….Good write.
Thanks a lot, Carl! It’s really a very simple poem (too simple?), but I’m glad you thought it was good!
How you’ve captured that human nature of always wanting what is not present…perfect reflection on it.
That is exactly what I was trying to do and I’m glad you think I achieved it! Thank you for your kind comment!