Seasons by Christine Bassett


I watch the passing of the Winter days

and Natures preparation for the Spring,

the beauty of a heavy frost,

rain upon cobwebs.

A flurry of snow covers the crocus tips

but the bright primrose will not be denied.

Winter sun persuades the birds to sing,

I listen as their song joins the wind among the trees

and the trickle of melting ice along the stream.

Is this a dream?


I watch the signs of Spring burst into life

and Natures preparation for the Summer,

the beauty of blossom in the fields

and rainbows on an April afternoon,

the flurry of nests among the trees,

songbirds holding tight on a blustery day,

their song comes to me on the breeze

but Summer eludes us yet

and rain fills the stream.

Is this a dream?


I watch the passing of my Summer days

and natures reluctant steps towards Autumn,

the beauty of the sparkling sea

and the flurry of soft waves upon the shore.

The songbirds’ chorus becomes an orchestra,

I listen to every note and stay quite still,

for the heat slows my steps

but warms my heart.

Now the earth is dry as is the stream.

Is this a dream?


So in the Autumn of my days

I watch for signs of Winter’s sly approach.

My eyes are dim to the beauty of scarlet

and gold among the trees.

I do not hear the flurry of falling leaves,

yet still, from time to time I hear the birds

but their song is softer now.

Branches shiver in the new chilled air

and I no longer stroll beside the stream.

This was a dream.

                                                                        Copyright Christine Bassett 2017


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