Seasons

When spring awakes, all green and new,
Full of blossoms, turf and dew
Which, though it rains, still grow, accrue;
‘Tis just a season of the soul.

When summer lends its freedom, heat
Growth is swift and fruit is sweet
While all God’s creatures sing, replete;
‘Tis just a season of the soul.

When Autumn bursts in colors grand,
The woods in crimson, amber stand;
Such fleeting beauty soon disbands,
‘Tis just a season of the soul.

When winter blows in, terse and cold
Branches barren, pulses slowed
Hands chisel out what once free-flowed;
‘Tis just a season of the soul.

If the happy season would but stay,
Ah, such is not the season’s way!
Pain and joy each have their day
In shaping life within the soul.

© 2018 Jacqueline Tisthammer. All Rights Reserved.