SPRING: half-cold, half-warm the April wind tugs at the chestnut's mane; he sets his hooves deep in the earth and furrows are left behind. Swallows call wildly to their wheeling loves.

SUMMER: the tall corn talks in the amber day; the tiger lilies bloom in the river marsh. The hay is in, the timothy meadows sway beneath the crow's black crying, slow and harsh.

AUTUMN: the heifers come down from the golden hill; the dooryard rose-hips have the hardness of coral; supper smoke rises straight and the nights are a chill; beneath the red maple leaves the ground lies sorrel.

WINTER: before green dawn the lantern light in the breathing barn casts a circle of the color of honey; hills climb through stars, my acres are drifted white; and my heart knows the taste of a good year strong and sunny.

~Frances Frost