First comes spring, the budding cousin, Ms. Aroma

Then Sister Summer, sandy-haired and already peeling

Uncle Autumn’s lying there on his hammock, swaying in the wind

And Father Winter is huddling against the hearth, staring into the flame

Each season brings about the birth of a new world

Holding hidden boxes filled with treasure.


Cousin Aroma paints a sky of swirling winds

To push time aside for another world.

Sounds of ice bubbling, cracking, layers of frost slowly peeling

The creatures on the ground a buzz with love’s hot flame

Trees burgeon, flowers blossom, releasing that honey-sweet aroma.

And a miser stumbles upon a hidden brook, eyes wide reflecting his treasure.


Summer’s haze, that brutal flame

Would give anything for a cool wind,

That crystal pool, how I’d treasure

A scoop of vanilla ice cream out of this world

Better turn over, my back is peeling

Oh my God, what’s that aroma?


What colors of the wind

Do I chance upon this world,

Where leaves are peeling,

And sticks and branches crunch under that pinewood aroma.

My heart exudes me, what joy that gentle flame,

But a walk through the woods, Oh what a treasure!


Father Winter old and peeling coaxes the dying flame,

As the world’s a drift of ice and winds.

The only treasure, the roaring flame and the chestnut aroma.


Sometimes these seasons joust with tempered tongues of flame

Accusations fly on hurricane winds.

What has come of this simple majestic world

Where angry mobs shout appealing,

The destruction of others, that rancid aroma.

Seasons exhausted, but their earth-bound treasure


Remains a concrete passion in this world,

That you can touch or feel like the rush of wind

Or the honey-suckle aroma.

Like chestnuts over a flame

We find our world is
peeling

Back layers of time to find our life’s treasure.