I Winter <br /> <br />Days, nights, more days <br />stretch in a listless stream, <br />molasses oozing <br />from a bottle <br />on a bleak morning. <br /> <br />We, souls aching, <br />languish in the days, <br />cloyed by the ennui <br />of endless pallid days <br />slowly marching <br />to nowhere. <br /> <br />Outside, <br />the unfeeling white death <br />covers everything. <br /> <br />II Spring <br /> <br />Fire, the green fire, <br />smolders under the white pall <br />draped across <br />a never-ending line of days. <br /> <br />We, souls stirring, <br />ever so slowly move <br />to the humming tune <br />that vibrates in the blood. <br /> <br />Outside, <br />the green fire burns <br />through the unfeeling white death <br />that covers everything. <br /> <br />III Summer <br /> <br />Sun, the relentless sun, <br />glowers godlike <br />at a plethora <br />of steamy, sultry, sweltering days. <br /> <br />We, souls panting, <br />devour the days <br />like frenzied maenads <br />drunk with the necromancy <br />of the days. <br /> <br />Outside, <br />no trace remains <br />of the unfeeling white death <br />that covered everything. <br /> <br />IV Autumn <br /> <br />Leaves-billowing, blowing- <br />cascade like confetti <br />on a parade <br />of mellow days. <br /> <br />We, souls waning, <br />relish the grandeur <br />of the glorious, golden days, <br />blinded by the beauty <br />of the days. <br /> <br />Outside, <br />under the variegated carpet, <br />the moribund earth <br />slips ever nearer <br />to the unfeeling white death <br />that soon will cover-everything.<br /><br />William B. Watterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seasons-25/
