Dark winter lays his cloak so black
Upon the field upon the track.
His icy fingers grip so tight
The last remaining scraps of light.

Bold Autumn see his palette glows
With wonderous hues laid out in rows.
He shakes the trees until they tremble
Their leaves in glorious mounds assemble.

And Summer? He is the joyous one
With light and heat and healing Sun.
But it is time he gives us most of all
With scarcely any night at all.

But Prince of Seasons is the Spring
He lays his salve upon winter’s sting.
A time of hope, of renewal and more
As He starts to knock on Summer’s door.