Seasons a poem wot I writ
I saw the summer stay and wait
tiptoeing round my garden gate,
then she sighed and moved away
to bring her warmth another day
Then Autumn came mellow brown,
with swirling leaves of thistledown,
but sad her time was all too short
she could not find the warmth she sought
To Winter then, the ice and snow,
with bitter winds that cut and blow,
yes her time outstays the rest
til Spring comes round a welcome guest.
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