We begin with summer,
When heat is all,
When leaves and flowers,
And ivy crawl,
The heat is harsh,
And loved by some,
When others wish-
-for a little less sun.
And then it's autumn,
Leaves part from trees,
The ground becomes littered,
With bumblebees,
The heat seeps out,
and people mourn,
Between hot and cold,
The weather's torn.
Winter follows,
Biting deep,
We grasp any warmth,
We hope to keep.
A crystal snow,
Blankets the ground,
The world seems still:
No sight or sound.
Then spring begins:
All light and bright,
The bees revive,
To the sun's new height,
The weather gives,
Both sun and rain,
And we cradle the knowledge:
It'll happen soon again.
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