In spring's tender cradle,
buds unfurl their wings,
While autumn's weary breath
whispers of waning things.
The cool dawn of March
paints the earth anew,
As blossoms bloom,
kissed by pure morning dew.
Yet in the fading days of
October's embrace,
Leaves descend like memories,
seeking grace.
Spring's green tapestry weaves
life's vibrant thread,
But autumn's golden shroud gently
lays the dead.
The robin's song heralds
renewal and flight,
While the owl's mournful hoot
echoes through twilight.
Juxtaposed seasons,
birth and quiet decay,
In their delicate dance,
life finds its way.
So let us savor both
—the fresh and the old,
For within their contrast,
great stories are often told.
