Summertime blankets us with woolen heat.
We climb into fall like a cold, bedsheet
Till winter chills our skin with bitter sleet
Then cedes to spring to resurrect from grief.
Throughout the seasons our bodies decay,
But take heart! We are renewed, day by day:
Mornings–blank pages–we can fill with joy,
Or slates we can scratch simply to annoy.
The choice is ours, the seasons never stop,
Believe or grieve; that’s the one choice we’ve got.