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Four Season Sonnets


There’s freshness in the air with just a taste

Of warmth to take the Winter chill away.

A gentle night-time drizzle cleans her face

While wispy clouds race o’er the springtime sky.

A brilliant cloak of colour hides the stare

Of winter. Jacaranda’s purple flow’rs

Adorn the limbs of trees once grey and bare

With scented air to drown in hour by hour.

Birds sing at dawn with crystal note so sweet;

A melody, well-carried on the breeze.

And new-hatched young await the morning treat

While nestled, safe in tops of swaying trees.

Small creatures from long Winter sleep awoke

To see a world renewed with joy and hope.


A seasoned heat, the bright sun bakes the ground

And saps all land of moisture, giving birth

To death. Fierce fire, and fiercer winds abound,

And grip once-fertile land in want and dearth.

Thin cattle, parched and listless mill around.

Ripe melons shrivel.  Tendrils grasp the earth,

Curl up and die when sustenance not found

In arid land. A measure of man’s worth.

The dams give up their water to the skies

Who greed’ly lap it up, and selfish hold

Until, the weight remains aloft no more.

Black, laden clouds, upon th’horizon rise

To shift the season.  Grass turns green from gold

And Nature once again evens the score.


Long cycle at the turning point of time

Where green leaves’ subtle changes solve the rhyme

Of Birth and Death and what lies in between,

Of reds, of golds and glorious Autumn scenes.

While days grow shorter, longer nights grow cool

And overnight ice forms upon the pool.

Ma Earth slows down, prepares herself for rest -

Puts on a show – example of her best.

Wild animals conclude their daylight task

Of gath’ring food before the winter fast.

Preparing dens for refuge from the cold

Excessive hunger makes small creatures bold

Enough to brave impending Winter’s gloom,

To save young families from eternal doom.


Lo! See the snows upon the hallowed ground.

It gently smooths the lines of death and strife.

Stark limbs e’er stretching – they are heaven-bound –

Displaying death, but hinting promised life.

Lo! Whistling winds create a haunting sound.

They play the cracks in log walls like a fife,

And stripping warmth from people gathered ‘round

As icy tendrils slice thru’ like a knife.

But winter in Australia’s not like this.

Tho’ cold it gets, the snows will seldom come.

A heavy frost may form upon the land,

As cold air gives the dew an icy kiss.

Or winter rains on iron rooftops drum

A steady beat for Nature’s marching band.

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