Autumn frozen by Winter thawed by Spring burnt by Summer
The seasons, plodding, dull, year after year
So slow, too slow for our modernity,
The ancient earth-bound measure of man’s sphere,
Time, time repeating for eternity.
Summer harvested by Autumn frozen by Winter thawed by Spring
The peasant’s clock, too poor for gears of Progress
But good enough for the poor poet’s pen.
And Progress moves yet faster, fragile process
Dependent on vigilant farmer’s ken.
Spring burnt by Summer harvested by Autumn frozen by Winter
What are the seasons to so many now?
The arbiter of weather: tiresome rain
Of life, the heat that raises wheat from plough’s
Work, and cruel cold that freezes pest of grain.
Winter thawed by Spring burnt by Summer harvested by Autumn
So mark your destination in the sky
But keep your hands in th’earth to work so deep
Lest you then starve along the way and cry
At what impatient haste of time did reap.
Autumn frozen by Winter thawed by Spring burnt by Summer
meter: iambic pentameter
form: something I made up; rhyme ABAB CDCD EFEF GHGH