I know almost every writer does something on the four season at some point in their writing life so here is the first of mine; the others will follow at the appropriate times.
With the bright delight of spring now out full in bloom,
the seasons move unstoppably as water down a flume,
and a more sedate, subtle, acquiescence somehow settles,
as longer, lingering days fill with hope perhaps clattering camping kettles.
Ever earlier morning sunrise continue to the mid of the year,
long sultry evenings are reinforced by the odd cask of beer
after days spent fielding, the very best of natures bounty,
up sun drenched hill, down shaded vale, summer bathes its every county.
Nature settles into full and expansive exuberance,
sucks up heat and humus to feed every growth and protuberance,
what was then the new, has soon become the now,
broad leaf, fruit ripe, lush growth eagerly feeds every fur, fish and fowl.
Hard worked scholars dream of the ever far off school hols,
where they might exchange the drear classroom for some iced and sticky lolls,
and a chance to play unrestricted, in the parks and the fields,
dress down for a change and with their mates, strike, Oh such daring deals.
Grown ups working, too, crave such a time,
where they can take advantage of this summer, away from the grime,
with long evenings which linger, cool drinks lazily cupped in hand,
magnificent sunsets at home still no substitute, for warm sea and soft hot sand.
With the longest day slipping past, it’s almost the start
of the end of the season but not yet, hold on tight as you did at its heart,
there’s lots more to take in, yes, including the hoe and the rake,
cultivate boarders broad with blooms, or rows of veg you just sidle up and take.
All too soon school holidays, sadly, are nearly full spent,
time to get back to regular tracks, we adults still have to pay the rent,
then boys and girls excited, many in their new fresh sharp uniform,
pack trunks and treats ready, to set off back to academe and the dorm.
For the regular its just back to playgrounds of paved hard standing,
while parents slip back into careers, or whatever they’re handling,
but in between you hang on to, what’s still the best of the sun,
after the days work is wrought you still have a fling, just another one.
Night is gaining ground now and temperatures are starting to slip,
where you notice that your finger ends begin to feel the slight nip,
and you need to pull on a cardigan that bit earlier, yes, that’s the deal,
you can no longer sit on the terrace, for that indulgent evening meal.