Illusion Of The Seasons Poem by Jordan Millar

You can call it summer, or whatever you like
The girls with the jump rope, a boy on his bike
You can look into the sky, and see a blinding sun
But for me winter's here, and it is not done
I don't mean snow, or the world bathed in white
I don't mean the thrill of a fun snowball fight
I don't mean a fireplace, with the whole family near,
I mean the whole world frozen in ice and fear
The cold cruel hearts of greedy men
That would toss you into the lion's den
When my every thought, is a shard of ice
It's impossible to tell the damned from the nice
The people around us don't change with the season
They are always the same and this is the reason
That I do not come out and play in the sun
Because I know that hunting season is never done