And the seasons are her toys.
Some are pretty like the spring,
Which she breaks and turns to Summer.
Summer whirs and lights up,
But takes up all her time.
The world will spin and the lights will gleam,
And a child will laugh quite carelessly.
Still when Summer ends, you must admit-
Would you like it better to be
Or be hit with a rush of Autumn leaves?
After Autumn comes the chills
Of Winter, when the child's Papa is gone.
Her tears are frozen with regret,
And so we have to pay the price.
So we are grateful, as we must be,
When Summer rolls around again,
So child can flock amongst the trees,
Kissing the flowers and little bees.