SEASONS…

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SPRING
She is aureate smile of daffodil
as it awakens from winter-lorn siesta
on a crisp peppermint morn
after apparently scores of dawns,
draped in misted confusions.

The soft lilting rhapsody
of a skylark as it senses fragrance
in flowing realms of zephyr
and sings to welcome floral delights.

She is lingering sigh of sakura
which blossom in redolent brevity
~ haiku penned by nature’s quill
on to be mouthed and scattered
in scented syllables
by a vociferous breeze.

Drizzling symphony of clouds
seeking to pepper petal-cheeks in gems-
as perfumed boudoir of Zephyrus,
enamors their vagrant souls.

SUMMER

Her laughter echoes in rippling gait
of cascading mountain brooks,
which flow down chiseled verdure
when a belligerent sun frowns.

She is infatuation
of a love-struck sunflower,
reiterating celestial path of Helios
with entranced gaze of one hypnotized.

She is fragrance of mango blossoms
which herald anticipations
of luscious, golden delights
soon to ripen on boughs of desire.

She is the elusive mirage
fleetingly cheating visions
on asphalted paths,
when light plays conjurer
on some harsh, perspiring noon.

AUTUMN

She is auburn whisper of nostalgia
withering from bony fingers
of geriatric mendicancy,
echoing on dusty trails
in cinnamon-scented ambiguity.

She is placid grin carved
on juicy melons of reality,
to concoct dancing shadows on
stark lamps of veracity.

She is the swiftness of squirrels
eagerly hoarding nuts,
only to be forgotten restart
another xylem-phloem equation,
while golden wheat-dreams rippen.

She is the mandarin moon
seen perched on nude branches,
delighting in the vista
of enceinte fields afore harvest.

WINTER

She is the sepia morning,
apparently bleached of flavors and hues,
awakening lethargically to
steaming lure of caffeine~
seen through frosted panes
fingerprinted by wind’s shivers.

She is warmth of blazing hearth
and blankets coaxing agility to laze,
on afternoons veiled in fog
while nostrils delight in scents
of roasted peanuts and brewed hot cocoa.

She the flavor of green peas
shelled in bowls like moments of leisure,
the aroma of greens permeating from
a kitchen’s larder of allure.

She is the forbidden pleasure
of ice-creams savored in the chill
when snowflakes cover foliage rustles
like children after pillow tussles,
and fingers are numbly beg for sunshine.

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