Spring.
Tulips bloom and our crape myrtle grows,
Along with our hope
For a more promising year

Summer.
Seizures rock our world.
Emanating like earthquakes
From the fault lines of her brain

Autumn.
Leaves shrivel and drop
Just like she does when she loses her balance,
And falls to the ground.

Winter.
Cold winds and dark thoughts give me dry skin.
A red rash that is a physical embodiment of the irritation
Seething beneath my pale complexion.