The Seasons Poem by John Leroy Maxwell

Muddy puddles, messy things, drops of water, tiny rings
Muddy shoes, muddy boots, little sprigs from tiny roots
Budding trees fast turning green, popping flowers in between
Gentle breezes brush the hair, without a worry, without a care
Blades of grass just coming thru, cloudy skies, but yet some blue
Spring is here for just a while, to bring the summer in with style
Littles ripples on the lake, tiny fishes, rings they make
Now and then a pokey nose, Turtles peeking rocks they chose
Sunny days upon the rock, each and every way they flock
Watching every passerby, little heads, but sharp an eye
Quacking Ducks, searching mate, northland bound to seek their fate
Nests to build, a family choose, hidden so and in recluse
Preying eyes to search them out, stealthy creeping all about
Foliage chosen, hide them so, be protected, strong winds blow
Spawning fish, perhaps in May, along the shore, along the bay
Reptiles swim, reptiles crawl, along the banks, a prey to fall
But in the trees the birds do sing, now and then to sky they wing
The flying Squirrels to air they take, but ne'er a bruise, maybe fake
The Cattle graze in pasture still, the plowmans horse, the soil to till
Soon the fields the farmer sow, his keep to earn the crops he grow
Then harvest come, for it be fall, once again his produce haul
To the market, far and wide, and dread the winter, to abide
Beside his stove, family 'round, a greater treasure ne'er be found
To sing and dance, the stories told, and reminisce the days of old
This be the life, think not so bad, sometimes happy, often sad
This be the heritage, great or small, this be winter, no more fall
The waters now, hard as stone, the fields be white, fences blown
Now settled we, in soft warm bed
To sleep 'til morn, the Good Book read