The prism of autumn leaves have
given way to winters white snow.
No longer the object of fascination,
the dead remnants disintegrate in woe.
Each season has it\'s own reward.
Summer surely keeps my attention.
But there is one that I despise.
Winter feels like a long detention.
The months without sun and warmth
seem like prison without end.
I serve my sentence quietly
as I search for new ways to fend.
The autumn bursts of colors and breezes
would seem like a blessing right now.
Oh, if I could smell a bouquet today,
the heaviness in me would take a bow.