Matthew Thomas Donovan

Oh, hills and sun, do I remember
The frozen tides this past November
Do shine like steel on this December
And cool my skin like rained September

My clothes are dried by summer's heat
No soul goes west on July's seat
But work is there, and deadlines meet
On winter's step, to cold's conceit

I write to thee my seasons fair
I'll sign on to your tireless care
For which you toil and all men bare
Unto this life; old age we share