Four sonnets for four seasons... self-explanatory, really!
There’s freshness in the air with just a taste
Of warmth to take the Winter chill away.
A gentle night-time drizzle cleans her face
While wispy clouds race o’er the springtime sky.
A brilliant cloak of colour hides the stare
Of winter. Jacaranda’s purple flow’rs
Adorn the limbs of trees once grey and bare
With scented air to drown in hour by hour.
Birds sing at dawn with crystal note so sweet;
A melody, well-carried on the breeze.
And new-hatched young await the morning treat
While nestled, safe in tops of swaying trees.
Small creatures from long Winter sleep awoke
To see a world renewed with joy and hope
A seasoned heat, the bright sun bakes the ground
And saps all land of moisture, giving birth
To death. Fierce fire, and fiercer winds abound,
And grip once-fertile land in want and dearth.
Thin cattle, parched and listless mill around.
Ripe melons shrivel. Tendrils grasp the earth,
Curl up and die when sustenance not found
In arid land. A measure of man’s worth.
The dams give up their water to the skies
Who greed’ly lap it up, and selfish hold
Until, the weight remains aloft no more.
Black, laden clouds, upon th’horizon rise
To shift the season. Grass turns green from gold
And Nature once again evens the score.
Long cycle at the turning point of time
Where green leaves’ subtle changes solve the rhyme
Of Birth and Death and what lies in between,
Of reds, of golds and glorious Autumn scenes.
While days grow shorter, longer nights grow cool
And overnight ice forms upon the pool.
Ma Earth slows down, prepares herself for rest -
Puts on a show – example of her best.
Wild animals conclude their daylight task
Of gath’ring food before the winter fast.
Preparing dens for refuge from the cold
Excessive hunger makes small creatures bold
Enough to brave impending Winter’s gloom,
To save young families from eternal doom.
Lo! See the snows upon the hallowed ground.
It gently smoothes the lines of death and strife.
Stark limbs e’er stretching – they are heaven-bound –
Displaying death, but hinting promised life.
Lo! Whistling winds create a haunting sound.
They play the cracks in log walls like a fife,
And stripping warmth from people gathered ‘round
As icy tendrils slice thru’ like a knife.
But winter in Australia’s not like this.
Tho’ cold it gets, the snows will seldom come.
A heavy frost may form upon the land,
As cold air gives the dew an icy kiss.
Or winter rains on iron rooftops drum
A steady beat for Nature’s marching band.