The four seasons

Each have their own hue,

The temperate ones

By far the most vibrant;

They deck up in every shade

Of red, orange and yellow,

A sight to behold,

In tiny gardens,

Or on either side of the road.

The harsh summer sun

Does wonders to the lawn,

Enhancing the sheen,

Of its carpet of green;

While the biting cold

Of the dreary winter morn,

Brushes the landscape

With the whites of frost,

And the black of the bare limbs

Of despondent trees,

That await the return

Of the sparkling green,

As also the chirruping birds

To herald the advent

Of a promising dawn.

Image Credit: Photo by Bob Richards on StockSnap