Spring arrives on silver rain,
Softening the wintera chain.
Roots awaken, rivers run,
Branches lean toward the sun.

Fields once quiet breathe anew,
Painted green with drops of dew.
Birdsong stitches through the skies,
Morning blooms before our eyes.

Then comes summer, bold and bright,
Long with laughter, warm with light.
Thunder rolls on distant hills,
Fireflies drift above the fields.

Days grow heavy, ripe, and slow,
Golden wheat begins to bow.
Children chase the evening breeze
Through the shade of humming trees.

Autumn follows, copper-crowned,
Leaves like embers spinning down.
Crisp air gathers at the door,
Geese cry southward evermore.

Harvest moons and candle glow,
Quiet gardens laid below.
Every sunset burns more deep,
As the earth prepares for sleep.

Winter comes with patient hands,
Frost adorning silent lands.
Snowfall hushes road and pine,
Stars appear more sharp, more fine.

Yet beneath the frozen seam,
Life still curls within its dream.
For every ending softly brings
The hidden seed of future springs.


Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 10th of Ios, in the year 19 AC.