At seasons change.
Be their gardens sparkled with snowdrops, bowing their peeping heads.
Diminutive in a flood of alabaster, blasted with vibrant ****** leaves.
Colours laid upon the grass.
Moving months the changelings evoked.
My space pray be sprinkled with realms of scented flowers.
Soft scent in springtime.
The flowers die and dry.
While I mature to perfection.
And so the sun blazes hard and strong.
Summer beckons the coming of hay.
With the hay the harvester calls.
Their leaves tumble.
Christmas is coming,
The pines are whispering in the breeze.
Longing for their freedom.
To put on their best clothes.
'Tis warm in the living room.
Avoidance of the winter snows.
(C) LIVVI