Muddy puddles, messy things, drops of water, tiny rings <br />Muddy shoes, muddy boots, little sprigs from tiny roots <br />Budding trees fast turning green, popping flowers in between <br />Gentle breezes brush the hair, without a worry, without a care <br />Blades of grass just coming thru, cloudy skies, but yet some blue <br />Spring is here for just a while, to bring the summer in with style <br />Littles ripples on the lake, tiny fishes, rings they make <br />Now and then a pokey nose, Turtles peeking rocks they chose <br />Sunny days upon the rock, each and every way they flock <br />Watching every passerby, little heads, but sharp an eye <br />Quacking Ducks, searching mate, northland bound to seek their fate <br />Nests to build, a family choose, hidden so and in recluse <br />Preying eyes to search them out, stealthy creeping all about <br />Foliage chosen, hide them so, be protected, strong winds blow <br />Spawning fish, perhaps in May, along the shore, along the bay <br />Reptiles swim, reptiles crawl, along the banks, a prey to fall <br />But in the trees the birds do sing, now and then to sky they wing <br />The flying Squirrels to air they take, but ne'er a bruise, maybe fake <br />The Cattle graze in pasture still, the plowmans horse, the soil to till <br />Soon the fields the farmer sow, his keep to earn the crops he grow <br />Then harvest come, for it be fall, once again his produce haul <br />To the market, far and wide, and dread the winter, to abide <br />Beside his stove, family 'round, a greater treasure ne'er be found <br />To sing and dance, the stories told, and reminisce the days of old <br />This be the life, think not so bad, sometimes happy, often sad <br />This be the heritage, great or small, this be winter, no more fall <br />The waters now, hard as stone, the fields be white, fences blown <br />Now settled we, in soft warm bed <br />To sleep 'til morn, the Good Book read<br /><br />John Leroy Maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-seasons-13/
