As the seasons come to and fro, I ponder if I am content with each one as it comes. For they are here for a short while. For I rather am someone who cherishes but just the two of four, For they are fall and winter. But though I sometimes enjoy the mist of the morning sun,Peeking through the fog, And the dew that falls to the grass, And the smell of it all. Yet I am still rather to the fall, It is the leaves when they to a crisp copper brown, And the sound of the leaves as I stomp upon them. I am reminded of a by-gone era, For it is the child in me, that longs for it to go on and on, never ending, To the wonder of it all. Yes the pretty spring with the flowers all blooming towards the sky, And bloom they go, until they are done, to brown. But again and again they bloom once more. Yet until summer sun, can they endure, the heat of the day under the scorching hot summer sun. Yet they continue to bloom again and again. The spring brings her raindrops that will come like a thunderstorm, in summer's day. And the promise of the rainbow, as always to remind us, always. But back again we are into the November days.