The Four Seasons

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Remembering Vivaldi

Submitted: March 11, 2018

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Submitted: March 11, 2018

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I am not inspired by the autumn.

When in the orchards’ emptiness

Running wild window carries madly

Leaves of the Pennsylvanian ashes.

 

I fear the cold in winter season

With its white hair sinister mop,

The frost, the smell of the pine needles,

And the dead nakedness of oaks.

 

The spring is something to awake me

With wizard green and luscious grass.

The thunderstorm hews ice which shackled

My heart to frigid winter past.

 

Ultimately, the summer’s welcome!

The everything is vibrant paint.

It’s time for feeling like the poets

And as the poets to create.

 


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