Don´t place all your bets on the spring

for it doesn’t last forever.

Seasons change

cool breeze that pleasures the skin

to hot blasts that burn the flesh,

and then cold draft chills the bones.

The green of the meadows pales

under the scorching sun.

The thick shady bowers wither –

their green leaves falling one by one;

rusty green, then yellow and brown.

Scraping the earth

in their scratchy cackle.

Raked up in heaps and set to flames

while backpackers revel around.