Seasons

They told me I could grow what I wanted So I grabbed some dreams and I planted Springtime is scarce It only comes once a year I tilled the soil and then I tilled it some more Started the seeds for when the rain starts to pour Saplings will grow My life will show Some hope The summer was a harsh one No rain in sight; only beatings from the sun The leaves yellowed early They never were young The seeds I planted never took root in the dirt Choked by thorns and weeds, all they got were pain and hurt Scarecrows stood idle As I fought off the birds Alone Autumn’s here, and what have I grown? What have I to harvest? What have I to call my own? I fought through the summer I worked through the spring Never had anything I’d call my youth No photographic moment to look back and hold onto I hope that at least The autumn leaves As they fall down They cover the ground Beautifully