The winds of change always blow,
in a neverending zephyric flow,
sometimes less and sometimes more,
you never know just what's in store.

Sometimes rains comes on with,
or hurricane's forces surpassing myth,
snow occasionally whites out blind,
then the sun comes and we're all fine.

From the mud grasses bloom,
and colors us away from gloom,
opportunities now abound,
pick and choose from all around.

Heat picks up and everything dries,
the only moisture is from our cries,
but this is short and seasons change,
life is cyclical, nothing strange.

Everpresent wind increases,
canceling all the leaves leases,
blowing them into pyres,
we ignite them with sparks of fire.