Poetry for the Seasons
To every thing there is a season


There is no season such delight can bring,
As summer, autumn, winter, and the spring.
William Browne (c.1591–c.1645) "Variety"

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day

Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

Gold of a ripe oat straw, gold of a southwest moon

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow.

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