On Seasons Again

My summer is gone, leaves are turning brown. Though days are still warm and nice, no smile can ever disguise a frown, no shine ever hides the ice. No thought of the future undoes the past, no destiny can be guessed. My autumn is here, time is running fast, the sunset colors the west. The weather still boasts its sunny side, but brushing off any doubt, my winter is next, and the sun will hide like a tiny creek in a drought. Wise people will put on jackets and gloves, while silly trees will undress so icy glaze could touch them with love and snow could give them caress. Then on the eve of the shortest day, when cold celebrates its reign, my spring will send a message my way, and seasons will turn again.