Seasonal confusion, upon this globe of poetry!

Fall here, leaves tumbling into places that amaze,
But you write of spring,
Others of summer,
Winter always, someplace,
Its retrograde reputation
Cannon fodder for the dark-ended, sad ones.

I know the science of orbit,
Axis tilting, angle shifting,
Yet confusion masters me,
For I did not know,
That seasons were present
Upon this globe of freedom poetry!

For me, here, it is always summer...
The season of relief,
In the sun of -
The rays of -
In the warmth of
The sun,
That bakes poems
Into my skin cells.