The buds finally bloom in vivid color,

And the solemn green is interrupted.

Children play boundlessly beneath

The hot sun.

Summer glides gracefully.

Leaves fall hard to the ground,

Enshrouded in a dying beauty.

Long days of hot freedom are replaced by

sleeting nights.

Autumn is the transition.

Ice coats the asphalt roads,

Layers of pants are caked onto legs.

The sun exists only as a

Wistful memory.

Winter is hope’s thief.

The frigid air’s tight grip loosens,

And the everpresent clouds disappear.

The sun’s Midas Touch turns frozen hearts

To gold.

Spring will not be refused.