Beautiful are the seasons that pass me by.

Four completely different times of the year.

Each going faster than a blink of an eye.

Missing anyone of them is my huge fear.

For spring marches forth to push out the cold,

Bringing with it the bird and colored bloom.

A few hot days will bring summer out bold.

Fishing, swimming and camping will resume.

Fall sneaks in quietly with color slight,

Sights and smells of harvest in the air.

When winter comes, the season will fight.

Until all is deep in snowy ware.

The trees, like I, yearn for the spring date.

Serene, as Penelope doth wait.