Seasons Poem by William B. Watterson

I Winter

Days, nights, more days
stretch in a listless stream,
molasses oozing
from a bottle
on a bleak morning.

We, souls aching,
languish in the days,
cloyed by the ennui
of endless pallid days
slowly marching
to nowhere.

Outside,
the unfeeling white death
covers everything.

II Spring

Fire, the green fire,
smolders under the white pall
draped across
a never-ending line of days.

We, souls stirring,
ever so slowly move
to the humming tune
that vibrates in the blood.

Outside,
the green fire burns
through the unfeeling white death
that covers everything.

III Summer

Sun, the relentless sun,
glowers godlike
at a plethora
of steamy, sultry, sweltering days.

We, souls panting,
devour the days
like frenzied maenads
drunk with the necromancy
of the days.

Outside,
no trace remains
of the unfeeling white death
that covered everything.

IV Autumn

Leaves-billowing, blowing-
cascade like confetti
on a parade
of mellow days.

We, souls waning,
relish the grandeur
of the glorious, golden days,
blinded by the beauty
of the days.

Outside,
under the variegated carpet,
the moribund earth
slips ever nearer
to the unfeeling white death
that soon will cover-everything.