Seasons

The sun burns down,
On the old lazy town.
The flowers have bloomed,
In all different colors.
Red, white, blue, and pink.
Purple, orange, and others,
Even growing without their mothers.
The cold, blue, rivers run,
The waterfalls to.
Always in action,
Never will ration.
The trees sprout leaves,
All green and healthy,
They grow and grow,
Until they turn rich and wealthy.
The sky is as blue as the beach,
The shade is as soft as a peach.
A breeze passes,
Fall is here.
What used to be green leaves,
Is know like little brown peas.
The sky turns as dark as the ocean,
There’s no more use for lotion.
The flowers have started to go to bed,
And are not any more pink, white, and red.
The rivers and waterfalls which used to be energized,
Now just float along with no enthusiasm.
Then snow starts to fall,
That white fluffy stuff.
All over it falls,
Like trillions of specks of dust.
Not a thing to be seen,
Not a thing to be heard.
Everyone’s trying to keep warm,
In their little dorms.
Then finally spring appears,
The flowers start to have tears.
They get their colors back,
And the trees get their leaves back.
The younglings start to hatch,
One by one or in a patch.
The rivers start to wake up with the earth,
Spring…
The season of birth.