The Fifth Season

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

6 thoughts on “The Fifth Season

  1. 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’.

  2. 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.

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