A world created brand and new, what picture it would paint, Each animal, each person, an entity of what taint. Green, yellow, orange, blue, scattered with raw light, Though hard to penetrate through, Such closed and hardened might. Spring, she bounces high in air, Not cold, not warm, but fair. A little girl, amidst the wheat, Playing, with her friends As sunshine warms her feet. Summer calls, taking over, Through the pastel a shine does hover, Here, it says, I am to be, Who's waiting for my warmth? But no longer does she sing her song, When Autumn falls her fading call, The flowers of summer must fade away, It's time for a darker ray. Of orange, red amidst the sun, Children rusting on the line, A frost breaks through and chimes its call, No fall now. Cold and hard, its frozen vacuum, Takes longer than the others, Hinders more than fairy-tale pictures, 'Tis the only season that matters. Winter. It stays. Longer than the rest.