C. Bushway '18

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Winter starts and ends the year.

A cold frigid and dry season.

A dead season.

Nothing flourishes, nothing grows.

But some people, they prosper.

The snow plows, the skiers.

Winter captures Christmas.

Wishes of a white one,

Sometimes delivering,

Sometimes destroying.

The storms are harsh,

the winds blow strong and hard.

The snow piles up,

Seemingly miles high.


Then spring arrives.

A layer of dew coats the grass.

A light dusting,

Compared to weeks before.

The flowers and buds,

Poke their heads above the ground.

Afraid of what might be,

Afraid of what lies ahead,

Afraid the sunlight won’t be there anymore,

Afraid they will die.

People slowly begin to emerge once again.

It is a welcomed season.

A wanted saeson.

The colors seem to reaper.

The once pale landscape, is now vivid.


Summer glides in.

The hot sunny days,

A child’s paradise.

Sunscreen is required,

Or else be burned.

School is no longer, a prominent worry.

The once life dominator is forgotten.

Endless nights.

Friendships blossom and grow.

Summer means ice cream,

A beach trips.

All meant to be spent with the ones you love.

Bonfires mean s’mores.

And smores mean summer.

The heat is well worth it.


Fall arrives in a gust of cool air.

The breeze means sweaters.

School begins again.

THe leaves swirl,

The colors a medley,

like the lyrics of a new song.

They move with the tempo.

The rainstorms are nice.

Cold but still important.

The rainstorms bring puddles.

The perfect time to jump into puddles.

Let your little kid shine,

Splash someone on purpose.

People begin to retreat back inside,

But it is okay at this point.

The perfect end to the cycle.

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