They hated the snow she provided them
So they can build their snowmen.
They angered her, so she froze them in,
And they wished and prayed for the sun again.

She brought them light and butterflies
To hush their mouths and halt their cries.
They asked for roses, beets, and tangerines.
She cried to grow their floral dreams.

Her tears halted their outside time,
So they begged and asked for more sunlight.
She stopped her tears and obeyed their request,
And brought bees, fireflies, and sweat.

The flowers she brought gave them flus.
The bees she gave stung them blue.
The sun scorched and burned their skin,
So they begged and begged for the cold again.

She blew wind to cool them off.
She showed colors of brown and apricot.
She left leaves and pinecones around their house,
But they raked them up and threw them out.

They angered her, so she froze them in,
With hopes to never see them again!
She did everything they requested,
But they hated her no matter what she did.

I remember when it used to snow.
I’d stare in awe out my window.
‘You’ll get frostbite!’ I was told.
Now, I’m old and it barely gets cold.

I remember when it used to snow.
Even at night, you could see it glow.
The birds would leave, but now they stay.
Even they’re confused in these “winter” days.

I remember when it used to snow.
O my, wasn’t it beautiful?
My niece questions on the way to home,
“What did it feel like, the snow?”

Summer night give me hope that winter stole

I like summer—not in the "summer is the best" way—
but in the way the sky looks so clear, so infatuating,
While it hides lies beneath the blue.

I like how the summer wind gives me hope—maybe the promise can be fulfilled.

The summer night breeze carries a sense of comfort,
it reminds me of the good days,
reminds me how I got past the bad ones.
It tell me i can.
The cool wind, in contrast to the warmth—I love that.

Yet I hate summer.
I hate how the hope I buried so deep is floating again.
I hate how I think I might be able to do it now.
Summer kisses my forehead
then leaves me sunburnt,
And stupid with its light and hope.

I hate how the sun burns my skin,
while the hope burns my heart,
It scorchers my bones.

It reminds me of the past,
but not in the cruel winter way.
Rather—
in the "you are so brave, you got past that" kind of way.
It makes me feel like I’m someone.
Someone important.

I hate it.
I hate how the sky looks so beautiful,
The "remember when" moments,
The smell of rain on hot pavement;
the air that lingers with scents I love—
yet I can’t go outside.
The sun will burn me.

Summer makes me like i can do it but when i do
It leaves,
And, thats all it does.
Like it never loved me,
just the idea of saving me.

A snowman stood tall in the yard,
His scarf and his hat were both starred,
The children would play,
On that cold, festive day,
As Christmas arrived unbarred

The carolers sang with delight,
Their voices rang out through the night,
With joy in the air,
And warmth everywhere,
It was truly a magical sight.

The trees sparkled under the glow,
The world wrapped in winter’s soft snow,
The kids ran and cheered,
The season appeared,
And the fire in the hearth burned low.

But the sun rose more sharply each day,
The cold slowly started to sway,
He felt in his frame,
A loss he could name,
As the chill slipped away with the gray.

He knew his time was nearly through,
As the world changed from white to blue,
With a soft, final sigh,
He whispered, “Goodbye,”
And accepted the warm winds that grew.

Please, call me to the place where my tomorrow was,
Where all my fears and failures were no where,
Where I laughed much and danced a whole lot,
Where we both were together, you and me, just everywhere!

Please call me to the place where snowfalls
Entirely reign in winter, and frost is.
Where rains and leaf-falls are in autumn fully
And wrap with spicy odour all as coverlid.

Please Call me to the place where I was loved!
And where I loved wholeheartedly, without “May not!” at all!
Please call me to the place where I was free!
I beg you, call me to my place! It's not for all

I see you.
Even through your dark nights and stormy skies.
I see you with your chilly breeze and lack of leaves.

I feel safe in your cold embrace.

You’ve always been my favourite. Not needing to shine bright or be loud. You let simplicity take the lead.

You are truly the beginning and the end. Laying bare for all to see.

I'm coming back as a tree
I could leave now
For all I care

The tree is an Ash
Sturdily bends in
In the sharpest winter

Breezes blows the boughs
The waves from the Pacific Ocean
Are jealous of her cadence

I'll take my leave now
I've seen all I need to
When you hear the wind look up

I've returned
Rooted, alive, without a care
Let the cages of birds freely fly to me.

Long shadows sandwiched between a biting breeze and a not quite wet damp black tarmac.

The end of colour intense time, echoing summer and spring's past,
pulling eyes to the grey mute hues of sky and tree.
A subdued stating of its intent to last.

Year-end approaches, celebration looms, competing the grey with a triumph that brings change towards gentler tones.
And a lightness,
seemingly lost in the yearly cycle.

The scent of spring once hidden beneath the diminishing decay of autumn and winter's contribution brings a bright hope forecasting a weathered change.

The beat of the yearly cycle quickens adding strength and tempo to my own hearts quickening with a prospect of longer days.