-- The Tale of Four Seasons --

by John Herlihy

Eternal mystery found in telling the tale of four seasons;

Nature’s tapestry of revelation with compelling reasons.

Each one with its heart laid bare, promising, sober, bleak;

Each one with its soul in prayer, intimate, hopeful, unique.

Four iridescent candles that burn slowly down their wick;

Four measures of passing time as the seasonal clocks tick..

Vivid green of spring grasses or pale white of winter lace;

A tale of smiles and frowns be engraved on nature’s face.

We begin at the beginning in the flush of soft spring rains;

A message of resurrection and rebirth running in its veins.

In the breath of spring’s warmth, ice flows in rivers melt;

In the buds of skeletal trees, the caress of gentle wind felt.

Storm clouds of heaven let loose winter’s tears in a rush;

Spreading their wealth across the land now beaming flush.

The gurgle of bubbling brooks mimicking an infant’s mirth;

Birds, buds and blossoms rejoice in their awakening birth.

Spring’s gush gives way and surrenders to summer’s sway;

All the butterflies, birds, and bees in the firmament at play.

The nights a diamond-studded black, the day filled sky blue;

Sunsets speak of crimson flare, while dawn speaks of dew.

Summer is the one season that we wish would never end;

Created to go on forever, let’s be realistic and not pretend.

Every season has its moments and summer is no exception;

With its heart fully exposed and that harbors no deception.

In parenthesis, let us not forget to mention Indian summer;

Unexpected sunny days and cool nights, a seasonal wonder.

Often nestled after the first frost yet before the first snow;

Hunting time for Native Americans before chill winds blow.

The serenity of summer gives way to the sobriety of autumn;

Shorter days and longer nights, seen thru eyes of a pumpkin.

A respite from summer heat found in breath of autumn chill;

The harvest in, the night air crisp, shooting stars shining still.

Autumn’s season of celebration, the leaves by thousands came;

Chestnut, oak and maple trees shedding leaves of every name.

A dazzling cornucopia of color as the trees dying leaves shed;

Stained with crimson, scarlet and rust as autumn’s heart bled.

The agony of autumn finds its resting place in winter’s grave;

Squirrels retrieve hidden nuts, the bear hibernates in a cave.

Against the distant horizon winter’s skeletal trees stand stark;

Across the land, winter days are dim while winter nights dark.

Yet the season of death is considered a thing of stark beauty;

Hallowed be its name, its message bearing a haunting mystery.

Across the desolate domain of winter, a serene hush extends;

Earth dressed in a robe of white as a shower of snow descends.

The remarkable story of the four seasons is a tale often told;

We smile, shudder, and shake as the glorious seasons unfold.

Fall requiem, winter harshness, spring rebirth, summer sweet;

I bow my head in humble gratitude as I the four seasons greet.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Saturday 23 March 2024