We are the seasons
The changing seasons, always different
Always changing.
Sometimes we are the summer
Bright and warm, eager to rise
Glowing with happiness and pride.
Other times we are the autumn
Drooping, dying, falling apart
To the ground like hard, crumbling brown leaves.
A cherry blossom without the show.
Some days we are the winter
Cool, cold, impervious to others.
Sometimes we are the spring
Reborn with love and hope
Opening like the elegant daffodil
Tall and proud, changing
New and excited.
Changing seasons.
We are like the seasons
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Della, i like it. i hope everybody's season could be spring! or maybe summer. no, spring. no, summer. i can't decide! i notice both of those seasons involve a feeling of pride, something i rarely if ever feel that i feel. well, maybe a little bit. which doesn't bother me. i used to hear pride cometh before a fall; something like that. anyway, this shall enter my/our AUGUST 2016 'A Showcase For P H Poets'. thanks. bri :)