Lessons of the Seasons
By John Herlihy

What do we learn from the seasons
. . . . but their ancient enduring promise.
Why do we question the uniqueness of the seasons
. . . . when the seasons have ambiance that offers solace.
Where does the balance of the four seasons come from
. . . . bringing with them their unique inimitable style.
Why do the seasons stir such emotion in our hearts
. . . . when they are transitory, and stay only a while.

No one can forestall Spring’s sudden arrival
. . . . with the fructifying rains of March, April and May.
No one can enhance Spring’s destined survival
. . . . with winter now locked in time’s barn with its sleigh.
No one can deny the resurrection of the earth
. . . . neither the leaves that unfold, nor the buds that bloom.
No one can withhold thanks for the beatitude of earth’s rebirth
. . . . as migratory birds return at the retreat of winter’s gloom.

Forget not that the summer fulfills Spring’s unique promise
. . . . to dress the earth in the greenery of its natural wonder.
Forget not that summer always puts to rest any doubting Thomas
. . . . that the laws of the season have their own well-earned plunder.
Forget not that summer’s warmth fills out hearts with desire
. . . . to run freely thru the fresh air and the blue light of sky.
Forget not that summer’s flaming heat is but a necessary fire
. . . . and will say no to any hesitation to depart as its reply.

Witness in autumn’s leave taking the beauty of its party dress
. . . . that the leaves shed their greenery as the world turns afire.
Witness in the blaze of color the secret desire to forgive and confess
. . . . that all things must pass and that the end is signaled by a sigh.
Witness the falling of leaves to induce a feeling of melancholy
. . . . as the harvesters cut down the stalks of gold wheat.
Witness the impending death of the land that follow’s autumn’s folly
. . . . as children take themselves to the woods to pick blackberries.

Behold the death of the season in the arrival of winter
. . . . in desolation, the grim reaper leaves the frozen earth barren.
Behold the beauty of winter’s whiteness in the latticework of a tinter
. . . . that sugars the landscape in embroidered lace delicate, estuarine.
Behold winter’s breath that speaks with the howl of the wind’s spear
. . . . and imitates the cry of the wolf as it fills our hearts with fear.
Behold the sparkle of snow that descends from heaven in mystic light
. . . . with the falling flakes comes unexpected peace in the dead of night.

Never question the integrity of time’s sure arrow
. . . . that never slows the seasons down or change their course.
Never question the wisdom of the seasoned sparrow
, , , , that flies throughout the seasons and never feels any remorse.
Never question the equilibrium of the divine plan in situ
. . . . that provides the inhabitants of earth with bounty they submit to.
Never question the fortuitous coming of the seasons
. . . . that arrive and depart on time and always for the right reasons.