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Seasons
May 23, 2021
Oh, for time is a fickle thing,
Everlasting and ever-changing.
The morning dew woken early by a summer breeze
and the flowers bloom.
They sit upon a hill, basking in the glow of the midday sun,
breathing in the sobs of a quiet winter.
Shadows soon engulf the light on the windowsill
as clouds roll over the spring sky;
Into darkness,
we fall.
A blanket of snow covers the land,
the bitter air smelling of betrayal.
Like leaves falling in the park and rain on a windowpane,
both beautiful and tragic,
and alluring to the human eye.
Change comes slow,
like a blur,
and the earth is restored to its natural state.
The seasons and direction of wind are the same,
they end where they start
and begin where they finish.
© Molly B., New York City, New York
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Hi! My name is Molly, and I wrote this poem for my older sister's short film, "Seasons", which came in 2nd at the Unversity of Oklahoma film festival! I am originally from Florida but lived in New York City for seven years and now in Arizona. I found that the weather in NYC was so bizarre and everchanging, which fit with the times of the pandemic and 2020. Change is very uncomfortable for me, which is incredibly ironic since my family has moved multiple times, welcoming change into my life constantly. I thought I should embrace my discomfort and place my worries into a work of inspiration and peace. This piece is extremely important to me because it sparked my love of poetry and I have been writing them ever since! I hope you enjoy.