The soil will say, “go spring the new season <br />where growth overthrows, all green in treason. <br />Life has grounds: unearths dirty reason. <br /> <br />Use, use; <br />I must have use. <br /> <br /> <br />The free, summer poppies exclaim, “you sky <br />had urged us where breeze flies its sigh. <br />We'ill flush in blooms our hues.. that blue of your eye! ” <br />Fuse, fuse; <br />We want to fuse. <br /> <br />Autumn’s crayons demand, “De-nude the land <br />as we, shakers-movers strip leaf of command. <br />June’s long sentenced to death. Sun mules contraband.” <br /> <br />Noose, noose; <br />You’re for the noose. <br /> <br /> <br />Old north wind proclaims, “ I wither long days <br />as I bring up winters. They’re loud, hard to raise; <br />rescind you by wind. They snowbound all you say. <br /> <br />Lose, lose; <br />With me, you’ll lose.<br /><br />Glenn Bagshaw<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-seasons-8/
