Winter warms our hearts in cloaks, the earth mother acts their host. Starlit sky shows traveler's way, dreaming of distant summer's day.
So I say that the eyes are a window, beauty is found within the soul and upon the hills of Autumn, that are strewn with red and gold.
Where idleness is gathered up, a magic draught in summer's cup. Come, let us give ourselves to dreams, by lisping margins of her streams.
I peeked outside my window, when I heard a robin sing. His chirp was sure a sign of the coming of the spring.
And the seasons they go round and round. And the painted ponies go up and down. We're captive on the carousel of time.