Spring awakened,
shyly unfurling
leaf upon tender leaf
as the early yellow-green
crept up the crest of the mountains.
Summer
grew ripe and full,
her maturing girth
swelling in the heat,
laden with fruit.
Autumn slipped in on a shivery breeze
shedding her rouged,
but dying, adornment
in a tempera spatter
across the earth’s brown belly.
Winter’s cold and bitter winds
came to a naked and lonely land
bringing the gentle snows,
covering the nakedness
of separation.
-Joy Stalvey Barefoot
(This is a poetry version of a piece of prose on life)
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