Seasons

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In the scrapbook, lots of scribbles

Waiting for the beacon to reach out

End of the rain, I see skittles

Soothing me from the winter’s blue

I felt jealous of the crops in her farm

And I moaned about the seasons’ change

The fluttering wings will bring the charm

Or they may be lost in the sighs I made

I wrapped up in the coat; went for a walk

He waved with a booklet and muttered roughly

I was thinking about the folks working on the block

Life moves on with each period that comes