Seasons- Winter

Rain, rain, all the time

Soaking my clothes completely

At least let it snow

Breath made visible

Runny nose, sensitive skin

Bare hands freeze quickly

Quiet snow enfolds

Beauty in ev’ry season

Year’s end coming soon

Seasons- Fall

Falling leaves pile up

Swirling colors blow past us

Cold is coming soon

Summer is over

Children resume their studies

Learning improves all

Branches are now bare

Beautiful trees surround me

Winter is coming

Seasons- Summer

Freedom to wander

Evergreens provide cool shade

Beauty everywhere

Good friends and good food

Spending time while we’re still young

Lasting memories

Jump in cool water

Respite from sweltering heat

Sun burn hurts a lot

Seasons- Spring

Rain falls down to Earth

Cleansing, pure, new life springs forth

Soft drops drip on leaves

Gray skies spoil my mood

Wind howls through the trees

Wishing for summer

Sunshine brings new day

Golden flowers line the path

Rebirth, life anew

Wow. Just... Wow.

e.e. cummings

here are some of my favorite poems by e.e. cummings. 


i love you much(most beautiful darling) more than anyone on the earth and i like you better than everything in the sky -sunlight and singing welcome your coming although winter may be everywhere with such a silence and such a darkness noone can quite begin to guess (except my life)the true time of year- and if what calls itself a world should have the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such sunlight as will leap higher than high through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each nearness)everyone certainly would(my most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)

this is the garden:colours come and go, 
              frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing 
              strong silent greens silently lingering, 
              absolute lights like baths of golden snow. 
              This is the garden:pursed lips do blow 
              upon cool flutes within wide glooms,and sing 
              (of harps celestial to the quivering string) 
              invisible faces hauntingly and slow. 

              This is the garden.   Time shall surely reap 
              and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled, 
              in other lands where other songs be sung; 
              yet stand They here enraptured,as among 
              the slow deep trees perpetual of sleep 
              some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.

to be nobody but yourself in a world that is doing its best, 

night and day, to make you everybody else

means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight;

and never stop fighting