Seasons by Christine Bassett

I watch the passing of the Winter days
and Natures preparation for the Spring,
the beauty of a heavy frost,
rain upon cobwebs.
A flurry of snow covers the crocus tips
but the bright primrose will not be denied.
Winter sun persuades the birds to sing,
I listen as their song joins the wind among the trees
and the trickle of melting ice along the stream.
Is this a dream?

I watch the signs of Spring burst into life
and Natures preparation for the Summer,
the beauty of blossom in the fields
and rainbows on an April afternoon,
the flurry of nests among the trees,
songbirds holding tight on a blustery day,
their song comes to me on the breeze
but Summer eludes us yet
and rain fills the stream.
Is this a dream?

I watch the passing of my Summer days
and natures reluctant steps towards Autumn,
the beauty of the sparkling sea
and the flurry of soft waves upon the shore.
The songbirds’ chorus becomes an orchestra,
I listen to every note and stay quite still,
for the heat slows my steps
but warms my heart.
Now the earth is dry as is the stream.
Is this a dream?

So in the Autumn of my days
I watch for signs of Winter’s sly approach.
My eyes are dim to the beauty of scarlet
and gold among the trees.
I do not hear the flurry of falling leaves,
yet still, from time to time I hear the birds
but their song is softer now.
Branches shiver in the new chilled air
and I no longer stroll beside the stream.
This was a dream.
Copyright Christine Bassett 2017